I announce that I am there. I make a few adjustments; sweep the unsightly into the shadows, move unlikely objects from view. I even alter the mother of all symbols to coincide with the one I saw as a child. I claim no feeling for it, only for the droop of its swag.
I brush the plaque from my teeth and comb the lint from my hair. I hold a glass of water in my hand as I head in.
The animal makes its presence known, bellows as I walk by.
And the uncertain maw — it seems to contract. I crawl into its womb with hopes for a peaceful sleep and an eventual return to consciousness.