THE DOORMAN

The curtains are pulled together,
Equally and coevally
Inimical to the raids of the light
That hangs by its fingernails
Outside on the windowsill,
A beam or two
Still gleams through
Every now and then.

These cavernous innards of the hall

Full of emptiness,
And sounds that hover unsurely in the silence
Waiting to land,
And shadows that bend crookedly at the corners
Where the dark meets the indiscernible,
Seem like the confines of infinity
It is a bit claustrophobic here.

Why are the walls moist and peeling?

Has courage been incontinent?
What is this thickness in the air?
Did the spiders of despair
Weave their gloomy cobwebs
Across escape doors of the mind?
Maybe it’s the clock’s turn
To sink in the sea of time.

From the corner of my eyes I see him

Walking in from where hope died,
His boots dragging my fears behind them
The doorman who wants to be my jailor.

*****