Breeding Grounds
A crack in a wooden door.
Corruption forms its disorderly queue.
A rot easily blocked, filled
or scoured.
Yet, as time swings,
as air clasps open and closed,
as locks crust and fester
in any neglected niche;
therein will light crumble,
will bodies wriggle,
will mindless eyes
seek ways through
to you.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2019
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