There’s a pile of orange cat ***** on the sofa
whose back has been stapled and thumb-tacked
onto the framework it’s, where it peeled.

There’s clumps of dog hair like dusty black clouds
clinging to the stairwell corners.  Dog *****, cat *****
and miscellaneous other stains splotch the gray carpet.

There’s windows coated in years of gunk.  There’s a child
whose life has been shattered and carries on with a
tablet.  Chickens roam and **** on the deck.  

I don’t emerge.  My room is half-painted, hot, and dark.
I don’t emerge from my cage.  Litter boxes overfilled out
there.  Hate out there.  The air is heavy and thick.