dropping cool green sour grapes  
into your gaping mouth
hips angling into mine

leftover clementine peels
and apple cores
in the kitchen sink garbage disposal:

haven
for the rise
of the lord of the fruit flies.

this, my greatest adversary.

i lay vinegar and wine traps, and,
at various junctures,
lead spray sorties where they congregate
with all-purpose cleaner in hand ---
even swat at them
with my other free hand
like King Kong did helicopters,
whilst holding a screaming kicking Ann Darrow
in her small little nighty,

and i
watch,
haughtily  

as they fall
before mine
victorious feet.

and i beat my chest.

then i suddenly feel horribly conflicted
in the clutches of such a merciless slaughter.

they never
stood
a chance.

in that little honey hued moment
after helixed bodies
came and went,

where the arc of something sets down
over us
from over there,

with its glow suggesting things
of clenched whitened-knuckle awe,
hugging worried spaces,

i face
myself as
not just watcher -
not just wanderer -
but rushing water wide,
being conveyed

somewhere

into the big run of the space over there
where the strange firebreather awaits
as conjured conjurer
with nestled talking wings that cue us forward,

as we
gyrate
around
in circles; swirling
objects along
the side

for now.

i've the mien of a human,
alien among his own.
gross animal urges, brackish greengold flits, uncrushable surge; then,
demispoonfuls of Other emerge, light like photons
barely reaching, then lapping,
at my fatigued bare feet, toes curling up
in the sand of someone else's time.

i don't let people in,
because i
myself am
outside of me,
full of blocked ways,
full of rationalizations.

i am all hallways
without any room.

--- it's ******* weird, i know that.

i am not
altogether
normal.
i am out
there, but
still here.
please please, understand
this. it's key.

like, the other day..
while taking out the trash (that i pathologically neglect to do),
as i approached the dumpster,
that old-as-the-hills
tall, ornately carved double door glinted
into my space
- yet again -
out of nowhere;

made of an ancienter wood hailing from
a lost time and a lost space,
whose two adjacent hatch windows were lithely guarded
by some bizarre crisscross adamantine sentient metal -
this precise door, which
i have never been able to open up, let alone fully approach -
laughed and widened its grasp:

and, with a confusing series of heavy deadbolts  
receding from its nook with a resonant boom,
the left door,
ajar,

beckoned my
being,

as i
am,

and i crossed its threshold
into a velvety grooved room, remembered again
as a toward flesh warm and sliprune.

cursor blinks
awaiting it
the inside elides

none of these words
i muscle into existence
fill the dread
-the writhe that never dies-
that eats at my yellow bones
one day at a time

and still i push them
words words worm food soon