The Animist in the Basement

In the time of damp basements, I used to talk to the walls sometimes, quite softly, caress them even, my whorled fingertips stroke-searching for the faintest raised evidence of mold. On an August morning, those netherland, concretized holders-up-of-all things-necessary, (like the house), those walls were already moist. I did my verbal massage, my digital exam, […]