mushroom in the closet ruminations
i've left nothing of myself in this burning ring of shame, my finger wet, my pulses tracing circles on the wall of never doo doo doo doo i will sing waiting for the gift of sound and vision that deep therein the pang of crazy kicking in the the thrust of evil from within the snap of ether even in evening the windowless blinds are wide open and all their light faces are looking into this room on the round octagonal shaft where i don't belong wishing for a man a mile a way washing myself not once a day how do i get this bitter out from the dental and porous orifices in my mouth drill holes into my head to let the demons out, but i'll never forget what i've done in doubt i see my self reflected in black windows, i see myself reflected in everyone i see something of myself in everyone just at this moment of the world i want to blame them for where i am, for what i am, help me out of this place how can i leave i can't tell anyone how can i leave i can't tell anyone collect all the rotting food from the fridge, tie it in bags and throw it in the freezer, stop the growth of mould, find a way to break the mold, the mushroom in the closet, the mushroom in the closet. stay away from the closet, there's a broken wall in there, a leak from the hot water tank is hiding a darkened carpet, a blackened secret. don't go near the closet, where we keep all the cleaning supplies. the tank has sprung a leak, and spores are wreaking havoc behind the scenes. intruder alert, the mushrooms in the closet are karma in your pocket are the whispers in your socket and your eyes are burning mad. don't go in there, don't go near it, the mushroom in the closet, the toadstool on the carpet, the centipede is squirming in every single socket even in my eardrums going INTRUDER! there's a thief in my pocket. a fruiting body on the carpet, a list of my broken hearted materials to bring with me to hell. stem of veiny pink and purple, a cap and gills to spore and bubble and reproduce in blackened fear and spread across the carpet here. me secret told upon the floor, a bright white mushroom who hoped for more, shining with its toxic spores, breeding there behind the door, just waiting in repose to tell, the stories it brought back from hell, to impart each grimy detail, the story of a woeful whore. a puffball breathing in the dim, a stinkhorn glistening within the dimmest black, the blackest grim, the carpet in the closet. we stare into the closet black, each of us there looking in. i'm stepping over the stool, i'm climbing in, curling up underneath the stairs to spend a night with the mushrooms in the grim black damp closet. i'm leaving light behind for now, the mushroom will guide me somehow, a maidenhead, a beaconfield of glowing light. in my tightest underwear, my hardon pressed against the skin, the mushroom growing from within my closet moaning in the din of traffic passing by my room, my house a skeleton, but deep inside and from without grow tiny mushroom ghosts. the ghosts are hosts with fishy gills, the push their unwanted sexless wills into my nose into my throat, in my underwear and coat i try to push my vainous hopes into a tumerous brain-like hole. i hear it breathing as i sleep, pushing shopping carts full of body parts of wicked sheep, up the sloping street of chapel hill.