The Fly

The Fly

A Fly landed on my arm,
I heard it from afar.
Moved by engines
of grinding spurs,
like black roses
melted into night pitch and
served up in urns.

I felt odd
as the Diptera
turned and looked at me.

Playfully swinging on
an arm hair.

My backbone twist like
some acupuncture voodoo priest
grinning in all 3,000 facets of its eyes...

It was in that moment
that Time would have froze,
but for it not
already been stymied
in the lather of my foe's eyes.

I felt a prick,
a sting somewhere
in the cortex
of my Being.

My consciousness crossed
and the thought arose
that my soul just then
did evolve.

Effortlessly lifting myself
beyond my head,
at the grinding of the fly,

in horrific waves it occurred to me...

I am already dead.

Sunday June 6, 2021 5:22 pm