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: bit.ly; bottom: flickrhivemind.net)
Narble Furt Lives 
This post feels like the pre-Hispanic menu I read in Mexico……….
I’m toying with the idea of adding another line. We’ll see. The poem came out of nowhere.
The stuff of nightmares! I squirmed while reading it. What did you have for dinner? 🙂
It came, I think, from a dream I had a few years ago. I shuddered as I wrote it.
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.
My folks grew up in Warren, Ohio. I remember a lot of old houses. The photo of the house reminded me of me, which is why I stuck it up there.