Untitled Bug Trilogy
I Grasshopper, scared by the Shadow of a passing bird, Jumped into the cold ashes Of yesterday's campfire. He broke through the delicate Outer crust and sank like A skater on thin ice Into the gray darkness. In a moment he Regained his footing And hopped out, feeling stupid. A passing ant laughed. II The wormed fruit Taste good To the worm. III Between the window and the screen, Where old flies go to die, Where spider webs don't ripple In a breeze, Where water doesn't freeze 'Til late November, Where dirt accumulates and No one cleans Until next May. This is where my mind is On a late summer's day, Vacation ending pending, Sad to say. We all must go away, Shut the windows on the flies, Entombed, about to die And our return will Find them in the sill Curled legs,on their backs, Fragile still, Unmounted records of last summer's stay. I suppose, no better this Than go away. Written February 12th, 2002 © on Feb 12 2002 07:45 AM PST, same as above 0 • 1
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