king rat

the rock walls of the basement stink with mold,

tiny passageways of the space between the stones

filled of snakes and beetles, your best friends.

the rotting coyote is nestled in a home of

beer cans and twinkie wrappers, cold and

utterly forgiving.

maggots squirm quietly over the fur, and

you, the rat, are watching with your

hungry eyes and hungry face and hungry soul.

dry leaves and colored pencils are scattered

on the concrete, and you see the circles that

your tiny ecosystem moves in.

the snakes are writhing like the coyote’s innards

come to life with new malice and cunning,

the beetles crawling over and inside of your fur and skin.

unrestrained strings of drool drip down

your chin and dust rises within it,

and you’re home. finally home