The stage is set;
chestnut door, banister, and staircase
crescent window lined with lime
black metallic contraption
stacks of brown mesh sacks
cupboards adorned with technology
a flattened globe of mist and water
gray barrel on roller-skates
a drum set, of all things
(for added rhythm or
to keep the monster on track)
silver handle and small latch latched
blue jeans and a ponytail.
The illusion hovers;
wide white archway like a bony crutch
shiny green plant glossing the pages
a neglected stack of borrowed books
white painted pipes and seven sets of eyes
(on the ceiling gazing downward)
festive art hung, colorful yet transparent
bricks built on nothing leading nowhere
an empty room full of shadows.
We were here,
and for the time being
remain so.
But how did we miss the door
that leads to the outside?
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