The wall crawls with stuff
I don’t want to recognize.
Looking obliquely, the movement
reveals insects, each one connected
to some choking childhood terror.
I watch them through the sheetrock.
Thousands of antennae, millions of legs,
with an occasional slither.
As soon as identity is imminent
I crash through the door to the yard,
leaving house structure behind.
Outside, bugs offer sympathy.



(top:; bottom:

About Jim Stewart

Writer at Butt in Chair
This entry was posted in Consciousness, Dream, Humans, Poem and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Refusal

  1. This post feels like the pre-Hispanic menu I read in Mexico……….

  2. The stuff of nightmares! I squirmed while reading it. What did you have for dinner? 🙂

  3. The house in the picture reminds me of the house my great grand mother lived in in Mansfield, Ohio. She died when she was 95 and I remember visiting her there where she was always in bed.

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