Scurry,
Scurry,
Scurry, scurry.
Roaches
In the
Cosmic
Kitchen,
Sometimes
That is
All -
Multiplying and
Overtaking, and
Devising, too, and
Overtaxing this
House, the
Home we’ve
Come to
Love.
Scrounging to
Find out
What’s been
Left,
Crumbs in
Corners
Mixed with
Dust,
Fallen in
Cracks of
Seemingly
Smooth, from
Ten-foot-
High-view,
Surfaces.
Getting
Into
Things we
Shouldn’t,
Fine
Boxes left
Ajar
In a
Deeper,
Darker
Cupboard.
Scurry, scurry
From the
Light:
Scurry,
Scurry,
Scurry.

rjw, 2/2/03


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