This door won't hold the wind out,
She's looking at me that way again
I ask if this is a brown recluse, here on the wall.
There's a time to respond in kind
And there are times to change the subject,
And right now the stationary objects on the wall
And the hanging objects on the shelf
Dance before one another
Back and forth,
Shifting and uncertain,
As my head bows with the very fabric of space.
Untold fruit fly conundrums;
Qualms humans can't quite put a finger on,
Unfold before me.
My state is just so,
That I am able to almost get
Inside the head of
Two or three interactions of fruit flies.
"Wait, we don't have to be just sheep,
there is so much more in the world
than just this dirty sock."
And the dunces of it's world
In confederacy against it.
I know this fly
I love this fly.
I want to die
For this fly
With exoskeletal fortitude
Like the same brass balls
That have cut me and everyone else
Down to size.
