The Devil lives in glass. In the transparency that makes us vulnerable.
The low end chain motel, in the rural wilds, lobby lit up glaringly white.
I stand at the desk. I look back over my shoulder. Something is watching.
I can’t see it. But I feel it everywhere. Everywhere is glass. Everything is sky.
Waiting for the credit card to clear. The demos are within and without,
and they watch through the glass walls of the lobby, eyes sharp, hungry.
The demons and their soldiers, all those people who mean me harm tonight.
All those people with shark eyes, and bitter souls, and prayers without love.
I get my room. I walk up the stairs to the second floor. The air is hot, angry,
it digs into the skin of my hands and face like the aggressive attacks of red ants.
Gooseflesh and bite marks itch and shiver. My breathing comes fast and harsh.
I get into my room, and close the curtain on the big window. Cast away Satan’s eyes.
I close the door to the bathroom, bringing in the thin, stiff comforter and flat pillow.
I make a bed in the cold plastic of the bathtub. There are no windows in the bathroom.
Complete dark. Complete dark is safe. Even Satan is blind in the dark. Angels sigh, now.
The whirring ot the AC fan is soothing. The quasar at the end of the universe.