they wither, shrivel up into wrinkled little phantasms
sucking dust motes and lint balls behind old bureaus
where the cat dropped a half eaten rat
and a bloated cockroach rolled over on it's back and died
lurking little leeches, dry and sere,
waiting for some thought blood
to drip into the meager space between
the wall and the bureau,
slavering to crawl up its sticky, stringy mess
in search of a still living mind,
to suck it dry to the point of bloating,
exploding in a fireworks display of neutrinos
which are inhaled by unsuspecting humans
whose minds wake up for a few moments and,
shocked by the atomic collisions firing their neurons,

die

giving birth to their solitary offspring.