I find myself drowning
in her pheromones
the roaches pay rent in a place I made up
although they really own it & are called princesses
they also own certain places w/warm tvs, radios,
they share a damp bathroom & clawfoot tub w/everyone
on that floor, they rent an oil painting of someone
religious that hangs above a haunted bed 3 stories up,
(like all those old roaches climb stairs marbled) cold or
travel up an ancient creaky elevator red plushed w/a
person, part cockroach, doubles as a spy on the switchboard
when your mother calls & all the other roaches look out the
stair window to a small enclosed courtyard & see windows
of other roaches, they look out one to the street & see
clothes tossed down in righteous anger splattered on the sidewalk
watch potatoes fried in a plug-in skillet & dream of them in the day
-Jim the Poet
In dark wet safe. Lowness my leg hairs tell.
If Else moves I know change in this tight Air.
My young molt, as I did, get harder shells.
Company is good. In dark am aware
food with my two long, long noses that come
out of my head, bounce, dangle, flick in front.
Good grub I tell others when I find some.
All will be eaten always on this hunt.
My young eat my waste among mounds
skins, egg cases and the dead. A crack let
me in to snuggle in warm corners fast
settle in your grease, droppings, food for pets
You horrify me with your pure cleanliness.
Live in shittip, I’ll join you in the mess.
Bios and Links
lives in the Pacific Northwest with her daughter and often writes about nature. She has 3 self-published books, Swirl, RV Parks & Politics and the most recent is Secret Dam Things