Shugs?
I —
They're back.
Dear Sugar?
I saw them nod off.
I shot them with poison, and now
they're back [the cockroaches] — backs sprayed with the red poison
I sympathize with this improved tide, and hear their anthropic scuttle against pavement
— Feel the black dots like shots of hysteria climbing up my arms, leave footprints in ink,
Sugar, I hear alarms, is that you behind the door?