a spider
lowers herself
down to the lamp
in the bedroom
of an entomologist
he smiles at her
and says,
“I’m off
for the night, sorry”
bug
Poem #809
little beetle
battles the wind
and the sand
to climb
a grit mountain
only to discover
a bubbling summit crater
at the top
Poem #797
I’m alone
not doing too well
a beetle
with a cracked exoskeleton
functioning
but not thriving
View this post on Instagram
Poem #794 – why I dream of them only after they were gone
I neither flick nor otherwise attempt destruction
of the tiny flea that jumps onto my arm
a “good” person doesn’t fuss over trivial matters
it harvests my blood,
not nearly enough to suck me dry,
I itch for a week.
I am angry.
it’s not the blood I miss
it’s the bump I never wanted
Poem #734
cockroach caught
in the widow’s web
never chomped
a senseless death
Poem #173
the quilter pushed her project
through the sewing machine
she was unaware of the beetle
the small beetle clung
to a pinned together seam in the fabric
the small beetle was unaware of the machine
the machine brought it’s needle down
into the fabric edges and the beetle
the machine was unaware of everything