A long time ago...
I moved him from my bedroom closet
to his current home
He likes it there better
There’s more room to thrash
when he get’s restless or
he’s feeling ignored....
There are also boxes,
packed with old journals
and pictures, to riffle through....
And, also a toilet and shower
and a few spiders
for him to name,
or to eat...
I think the basement smell suits him,
much more than the closet smell,
where the fresh pheromonic tang
of my day old shirts and favorite hats
mixes with the reeking perfume
of clean laundry,
of safety,
of home...
Has been replaced by
A mucid mix of earth and mold spores
suspended in fur, rubbed on the skin
passing in and out of his lungs....
It’s a more menacing smell because
it is the murmuring
of eternity,
of patience and
of wisdom...
I have been trying to starve him
but, instead of dying
he fades
becoming a translucent specter
who can only terrorize me
with his breath and musk
in the moment between
shutting off the light
and closing
the basement
door...
