around here, you can taste
the dirt in the water, and the sun
comes out at night.
when the roots grow through
your walls, you know you’re home,
sweet home. and the room around you
is crawling like a colony,
a nimiety of vermin and parasites.
this is a carbon copy
of a club scene, crumpled up
and discarded; months later
under the compost pile.
knock, knock when it’s time to come out,
but the earth is closing in
around you, space is compressed,
and pieces of decomposition are
seeping in.

you’ll have to claw your way out
and find some new skin.
start with the elderly or someone
with slightly less of an advantage.
work your way back into existence,
but first you have to erase it
from someone else.