baleen
ovenbird The baleen plate lining the mouth of my screen door refuses to perform its function. Instead of keeping the creeping-crawling world at bay it falls off four times a day, leaving a gap between screen and glass through which all manner of thing comes looking for home. And so there are spiders in the bathroom drinking water from the tap, noseeums in the bedroom searching for blood, daddy_long_legs on their stilts in every corner, ladybugs decorating the windowsills, flies using every facet of their eyes to look for rotting meat. I fix the door endlessly but the world won’t stay out. It sings up to my balcony, begs for passage, makes promises that heat the blood and stir the imagination. It finds its way in when the light starts to fail and my diurnal eyes can no longer see to swat it away. And on some days, when the breeze is cool and the sun drifts gently past its noonday zenith, I throw the door wide open and call out to the world waiting lustily outside and recklessly let it in. 250721
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