Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Upstairs we are thinking

where'd that fucking beetle go?
setting fire to laundry landfills
and beetle trash piles...
can they get any closer
under this light? fuck,
who was she? this bulb isn't
strong enough, everything looks
milky yellow, or cold,
beetle cold and shiny,
ugly scaly wet shiny,
clinging to metal wires,

here first aaaaaand...there,

off to the right, the shiny beetle right,
where we know where
and for-
a single second eternal,
she places her finger
to the fire,

you remember it red with pain
and dancing,
beetle dancing,

buzzing concentrated,
fills the night 100 degree air,
where fans limp slowly onward
toward failure;


she ignores stinging
sounds rising above
injured animal screams
out into the distance blue.

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