Dark Corridors

There will be no more venturing off into these dark corridors, monsieur Don’t knock on my door tonight, I will not answer For the spider webs, shifting in the freedom of an open window will remain, Forever, like your hair, inconspicuous, deadly, and full of life. Don’t swear by the moon, it isn’t trustworthy, always shifting Shapes into slimy banana peels, fade to nothing, melt to grey Then blossom, into a sphere resembling the sun. I don’t trust the moon, though I live by it. I don’t trust couplets, my life-breathing energy supplement. I refuse to say anything corny, lest you take me for granted. But, god, don’t swear by the sun! it’ll burn your back right off And don’t trust a mother, or a brother, or a sister Never trust a “winner” who’s only prize, in my reality, is a gold medal in relentless pride. In the basement, in the summer, in the moist wet damp of moldy glows my old life Buried beneath the living, moving, and deadest of them all Who looks like the rest of them all.