Your soul is like a vagrant,
slinking through the alleys
of exposed cat ribcages
and rotting mangoes
and maggots lacking wings.
You watch a rabid mutt
peel flesh from the bone
of something long decomposed.
You're gathering
a stack of phonebooks
a spool of cobwebs
for a nest to keep you warm,
momma bird.
But don't you know,
that I could be your home?