There’s a monster in my basement

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Has been replaced by               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...