A still grasshopper’s swivelingHis antennae endlesslyBecause he’s lost. Two iridescent alley fliesCircle the house until they dieAlso confused. Just as the house does to the bugs,A very old and yellow spongeDries in the sink. And I am, too, thus at a lossTo be not so like how I was,Or want to be. Continue reading Infestation by Zeke Greenwald