The Fly
The fly
buzzes
over my bed
Spawns
her eggs
On a white loaf of bread
Sagging
with the substance
of gravy from blood
Sagging
like a breast
delirious on emptiness.
The fly buzzes
from
bathroom
to kitchen
flitting on
the garbage
bin.
Maggots
crawl the skin
meat red
their white pupils
dilating through flesh
sinewy feasts
Of happiness.
The fly circles
My eye
Swatting
The lizard of my tonue
With a whirl
of twirling
Words
I am not combative
I know when to yield
I was born with the thing in my flesh
In my brain
where the larva threshes
fragments
of philosphies with slithering loveliness
is now dried excrement.
I
follow
the fly
spiralling
the air
my transfix
impaling reason
The sun sits
calm, but I
know it steams
and hisses treason
conspiring
With the fly
to bring
me leafless
to a stalky season.
I love
the spiral
flight,
the buzz
like a saw
playing
harmonica
in my ear.
I cannot
Web it all
The dread
Of living
things turning dead
The fear
of
being
smothered by a fly
in my bed.
Copyright © L'Nass Shango | Year Posted 2009
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