The Manifestation of Certain Evils
Mud lines my way
In a field of concrete
Where you live and where I watch.
Let me walk - or rather writhe -
Past pillars of flesh,
Your flesh,
And sniff human smells
Of sweat and gold and sleep.
This is your garden of my earthly delights.
You squash me with damp paper.
I curl before your door and wait.
Will your door ever open?
I watch through fogged panes
Your daily life -
Perhaps when you lift your shirt too -
I do not think my head will regret
The sordid sights of my soul.
I ache.
Do not tell me my karma,
I too see my heart lift the feather.
O how I dare.
Dare to touch lips and dare to talk,
Dare to lock eyes and dare to walk.
Do not tell me my karma.
You squash me with damp paper.
You open your door above me
I scuttle through.
My wet cerci and my hard thorax
Leave no cause for concern.
I do not think you will see me.
Do not tell me my karma.
I am the yellow cockroach
You squash with damp paper.
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