The maggot in the basement.

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Stricken with decay in the corner of the idea.
I say with disgust under my Breath
"they are relentlessly godless."
Karma speaks nothing, but I follow.
His horns orange his yellow face smiling.
He is gods jester, he is and will be.
The pocket of some plaster and rotting cardboard.
The moon hides behind blacks clouds.
While a storm's wind carries the event to the borders.
Infinite with originality as intelligent nonsense,
My favorite words deny me.
In the shadows display the misplaced memories
 Of infrastructure of another time in our country.
When descending the stairs to the basement With
stars encircling my eyes, dizzy as the smell
of rotting produce. When at the core of the hospital
I find the spirit of God. The maggot squirms in the basement.

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