Labyrinth

the hornless minotaur in the ochre room
exhausted, trapped in boneless skin
the balding bitches licking his heels
him begging for release, to kill
a tourist passing through

the yellow birch stands smooth
and bronzed smelling like oil of wintergreen
the small black marks and scars
on his matured bark grow in the shade
of all those provincial hedges

the sacrificial virgins are being led away
from the threshold
with paralyzed gazes and spaghetti legs
abducted into the borderland
cutting corners
transforming themselves on the cold stone
defying classification
until the center is reached