Artwork: Stopping at the Inn by Will Jacques

We’re Made of Maggots
J. Richard Kron

it would break
their heart to know
we have no human
heart at all.

our form is starting
to show through our
scrounged-up pieces
of people's skin.

it’s taken years of practice
working together
to form a smile
and give a thumbs-up.

we have to move
very carefully
when we make love
or we’ll fall apart.

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Hiding Out 'til It’s Time for Heaven
J. Richard Kron

we paint sunny windows on
the cracking walls,
so our son never has
to see the slaughter
outside.

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Houses Have Feelings Too
J. Richard Kron

your new house is hurt
      by your obsession with renovation.
you constantly comment to your friends:
                          “it’s a fixer-upper.”

your insensitivity has led you
     to home doors that won’t open
         and home windows that won’t shatter.

your walls close in just a little
        more each day.
your walls scratch your back and soak
        up the infections in your skin as you squeeze
             your way to the bathroom.
your walls will do anything
        to make you feel.

and now, as your new house
       flattens your skull,
it dreams of a dweller who
      “loves me for me.”

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High Rise from Hell
J. Richard Kron

in an empty lot
across from my peeling house,
a shiny apartment building
begins to rise high
from an unknown place.

happy inhabitants just seem to bloom,
and they’re all white as sheets
worn by the Klan.

the high rise residents go
on Fitbit walks
down my street. their earbuds are in,
and they listen to TED Talks.

it’s during these strolls
that they mutilate
the needy seniors
who’ve lived here
before them.
maybe they believe
that ripping my neighbors to pieces
is good cardio.

I call the police and described the gore,
but the cops will never appear.
now I cower behind my door.
when the neighborhood invaders knock,
my tummy tumbles to the floor.

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