like fish, traffic junctions or elevator doors

another night has bled into the morning. wide awake. when the music stops and light floods the cave, everyone is ugly again. you have a gift for me in your suitcase. they were born yesterday, in the chocolatier of another country. i flee from the seduction, but keep the gift. you think it is just one of my irrational fears, like fish, traffic junctions or elevator doors. perhaps i am weak this way? the other night i watched a walrus die. russian hunters woke it from its sleep, and drove their long spears from behind, straight into its heart. the animal curled like cooked shrimp. and i cried.

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