the room has no air and I
walk, heatless,
through it
expecting every eye
upon me as I
hit the door, pulling,
swinging through
- fulcrum, lever and me
smooth in one motion. I'm
a perfect machine
for getting the hell out
but as I breathe again,
- treading on tree shadows,
cutting through the gap in the hedge
shooing spiderwebs - the eyes
still seethe
upon my ever-retreating
back
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