Against my reasoned sanity
I’ve kept the body tucked away
gathering its own history
consigned to resign the day
to keep my concerns at bay;
ignore the rotting sacrifice
to spite the stench of decay,
(old milk and allspice)
from behind the heating device.

When I wake it is there staring,
much of the face devoured by mice,
it feels like the fires of hell blaring.
maybe it’s the radiator,
our resentful mediator.