Wrong Door

Opening the wrong door
leads to the great vacuum
ideas fall into the sky
words are taken from mouths
and hidden in cotton floss
forever silenced forever lost

The black wool pulled down
over your open eyes staring down
these curled fibres passing
in a symphonic sequence of events
idiots who pluck the barbed wire fence
to provide that atmosphere of
tension to quickly evacuate that
question the table shakes for
full minutes the earth quakes
there is sweat on your upper lip
you can taste it as the tea slips
out of the cup and misses the saucer
and onto your lap you flinch
the nails instinctively dig
and something takes you down
a solid steaming form
crashes from its wire chair
to the cobbled ground down there
your eyes stare now
from an unfamiliar angle

Opening the wrong door can lead
to the wrong fate. Close it quickly
before you are dragged by its gait
you can't meander or feel ashamed
you must march in like a horse that
can't be restrained

your head won't fit into the hats
your feet are too obscenely large
your eyes are covered with memory
and your hands grasp the distance

The presence of a wrong door
does not mean that there was a better one

But taking the wrong door
leads to a place you can't escape from