Enter, come on in, feast your eyes.
Let our strobe-lights short-circuit your minds
while we're busy running trip-wires
round your ankles.

With your own shadows we fool you
into corners, and leave you there,
eyes wide, as you realise
your skin wasn't that colour before.

Acrid smoke, our halls of mirrors,
make you wish you never came,
forget why, then shove you from a
sidedoor. Alleyway,
                           pinprick,
                                       one, retreating,
                                       black-clad back.