Breeding Ground

in the screen door a small hole corruption forms its disorderly queue black fuzzy questions marks walk on segmented legs spindly limbs pry into disrepair lay slick eggs in dabs of dirt and dross incursions creep unnoticed until what was clean is mixed with the dead and decaying some rot easily scoured yet as time swings its metronome small bodies are secretly grown from the ceiling darkly smudged miniscule things hang dangle and spew nothing gross yet to the eye a festering unseen miniscule excavations where grubby nests will soon wiggle forth and teem.