The stairwell is empty. I take the elevator.

(11th Floor)

SEETHE and grimace. The eye is watching,
and mumbling, shuffling, hairline receding,

(10th Floor)

I will touch something and there will be a small fire,
I will reach out towards the sound,
AND SCRATCH
AND BITE
AND FLAIL

(9th Floor)

and my fists clench, and I am striking, striking, striking
to spite the mighty, to hear
the BOOM, the BOOM, the BOOM,

(8th Floor)

There is my face, all covered in fingerprints,
my SLAPPED GREASE PALM, an array of faces
will assemble
and warp in the vibration of the gold door

(7th Floor)

behind my head, behind my carbon handprints,
in the shining door, and silver mirror, fingers
wrapping around the brass bars, time-stained

(6th Floor)

I can't stand it, near or far, the palm trees
or the flapping sea-swells,
and his lumbering bulk through my memory,
that corpulent manchild

(5th Floor)

or the sound of when she laid down on
the stained mattress and rolled,
and rolled, and rolled, until she struck the smeared wall

(4th Floor)

"FEAR ME! FEAR ME! FEAR ME!"
BUT NO ONE DID CAUSE THEY WERE DEAD,
DEEAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAD"
he screamed, I repeat, he screams
I repeat, I STRIKE STRIKE

(3rd Floor)

HUNCHBACK, MISERY, LIFETIME,
nothing to quell, only this, ONLY
THIS SKIN GETTING PEELED, TWIST IT

NO SECOND FLOOR
NO SECOND FLOOR

(Turn to the eye and wag your little finger,
YOU HAVE HOURS OF ME, YOU HAVE HOURS OF ME)

NO SECOND FLOOR, TIME TO
blow across the knuckles and remember, remember
to smile and nod and meet their eyes,
those people, politely parted to allow
this long, rolling stride,
short breath:

(1st Floor)

The lobby is empty.