i wonder if the vapors in my house
will ever go away or stay by me when
i go up. the world may follow me,
come close to dare a sniff and to see

if bad cracked pipes are the source
or maybe ancient spirits now ghosts
rattle my lungs and reach my simple bones
shake my joists and fade my better tones

there is no quake to which i can give cause
people tell me when expressing their awes
it’s just the merry stink of awful living
and i’m the one whose body has been giving

offense. so wheel out the barrel and spread
my covers a little thicker over my head
i’ll keep my toes steady in my box,
beg of my few visitors that no one talks.

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