Monday, November 17, 2014

Dreambug

 I want every poem I write
to be like an insect, perhaps a member
of the family coleoptera, that is, a beetle, 
tapping a path with delicate antenna
as it scuttles across the floor.
With jewel-like eyes refracting the world,
a mouth with intricate parts 
like a precision grinder,
a body so small it can squeeze
into any corner or crack,
and hidden beneath its hard, 
shiny carapace, just waiting for 
the right moment to unfurl,
wings

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