Pretend you’re dead
after risking it all.
You’re on your stomach
sprawled on a moor.
Someone approaches.
Limps forward, more like.
He’s dark, and being
hounded by bees.
Pretend you lost everything
after betting on him.
You’re on your back
in an empty house.
Someone opens the door.
They start beating the carpets
with a bat. You hear puffy thuds,
like rust prongs landing
on thin cotton against concrete.
Pretend light enters
after injuring yourself.
Someone checks for blemishes.
His fingers are lava hot.
His voice so cavernous there’s
echo and delay.
It terrifies you, what this
Man might do.
You shed skin for the day
and return to the kiln. Then you fall asleep
to the sound of creaking gates.