The white door is locked from
both the inside and the other,
and there are red ants crawling
all along its sides.
She watches how they wander
since they stand out so well
against what they have conquered,
and she finds there is no reason to
the directions that they take,
or any destination they are aiming for.
There must be something sweet
in the paint, she thinks to herself,
rolling a long needle between her
index finger and her thumb.
Eventually it digs into her skin.
She expected a bit of bleeding
to begin, but through the small
wound crawled single a red ant
that chewed on her flesh
to make the gate even bigger
than before.
The Gate
Teleporting Typewriter 