I'm fatally dancing advancing with and toward

a slow zoom through hallways to the dark room

trying to shorten my strides or grip the walls at my sides gouging

a fingernail fear of mortality that makes out the shape

of the cursive-signed names of everyone or thing ever in a

not-so clever attempt to accept the thief that's in and is the night

I breathe heavily and wide to prove that I'm alive until my ribs

touch the white-walls rubbing along in a washboard song

that peels paint like turpentine with a rank smell wafting

from the room at the end of the line and time knuckling under

the backs of my knees scraping off of the floorboards slouching across

the adjacent door frames where exit signs should read thee

forehead pulsating expelling sweat to absolve me and for moments

the room might shine and I am still