It gets loud in this place.
There are dead stinkbugs scattered like landmines
Underneath the kitchen sink and on the windowsill
Bodies entirely intact in unfortunate circumstance.

The shower floor is covered in my housemate’s clipped pubic hair
Suddenly my entire body itches
As I follow the trail of thumb-crushed ants trace lines on the wall.
And wish I was one of them.

Something made quick work of the still bird on the sidewalk.
Every passing a further deterioration
First, the chest torn wide
Next, nourishment and nothing freer.

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