I guide the housefly inside.
Am purposeful, literal.
My first words: mother, what
have you done!?
(don’t you dare say dad’s dingle, I’m new).
I hold my pet corpse’s hand: we’ve done
well, old friend,
and we know family is an effort
to keep bills paid and pills taken;
refurbish the dream and try twice minimum.
Welcome, welcome inspector. Don’t mind
the fires, soiled mattress, buried mammals—
my home is your bridge troll,
my ranium is your ranium—
I leave behind anyone.
The name of the game:
the floor is fuel
and you’re an approaching ember.
Rules of engagement:
roll the dice, roll
until each edge is dull, withered.
If you wanted outside,
you should have named yourself outsidefly;
sorry little friend, now you’re mine.
We are a happy family
and it’s my responsibility to not annihilate you,
so take extra caution around holidays. Now, be
a good bug, or I will prove my teeth can crush.
- About the Author
- All Posts by This Author
From rural Michigan, Nicholas Alti is a bartender in Atlanta who holds an MFA from The University of Alabama. He is interested in horror, arcana, silliness, and surrealism. His poetry is in The Horror Zine, BlazeVOX, Poet Lore, Red Ogre Review, and elsewhere. Find all his published work at 3bluntzatonce.com.
- About the Author
- All Posts by This Author
From rural Michigan, Nicholas Alti is a bartender in Atlanta who holds an MFA from The University of Alabama. He is interested in horror, arcana, silliness, and surrealism. His poetry is in The Horror Zine, BlazeVOX, Poet Lore, Red Ogre Review, and elsewhere. Find all his published work at 3bluntzatonce.com.