Envelope Room By Reception

There’s a rope wrapped around your wrist,
dividing hand to arm.
There’s a noose around your neck again,
a twisted fibrous taught storm,
stretching the skin sideways,
back round to hairline farm;
malting in body’s murder,
escaping the harm.

77 minutes late is the rain today
and you were 2 weeks early:
a few pounds overweight.
Snake trail tubing finds a home
under tissue coat, buttoned tight
to the top in a loosening knot.
Zoo bars restrict you to opening hours only,
Christmas closed.
Simply the hoses stay plugged in, turned on
exposed but enclosed in the envelope room by reception.