Into the Maze...

Turn left, and down this steep and crumbling stair
Into (you sense) some kind of narrative.
You're in a littered alley, grey and bare,
Whose one pale lamp seems disinclined to give
Much light for puddles to reflect. The air
Is warm as soup, the tension laxative.
You pause uncertain. Stay here? Or explore
This shadowed dark behind that half-closed door?