House, Fly

The flies litter my walls.

What freedom in death.

As a child I could never catch them.

Videos would roll past my blind eyes

Why are flies so fast?

Why am I so slow?

Today, though, I am fast.

I am fearless.

My hand is particular only in its vengeance.

This is my trash, I assert.

This is my excrement, I assert.

I assert, this is my house, fly.