Apr 11
Venus Flytraps grow in nitrogen deficient soil.
They coat their pallets in sweet syrup, attracting nitrogenous flies to their famine.
Flies,
such disgusting creatures.
Born into rotting flesh,
living on a diet of carcass and feces,
carrying disease and filth on their hairy, sickly bodies.
Being hatched into dead flesh and spending their adult lives feeding on animal **** must make dying in a Venus Flytrap's sweet syrup the gods' reprisal; a needed respite from sledgie meals of drippy dog dung and gobs of mangled possum flesh freshly flung up under a car's tire and bounced around its wheel-well and undercarriage before slopping & sopping in rain & road-grime and sweltering in the sun for 3 days before becoming a feast for rotten creatures such as flies.
But you're not a fly.
You're a Venus Flytrap.
You live where your needs aren't met.
Your body cannot create what's needed on its own.
It's evolved to take what it needs from the filthiest creatures on the planet.
The sweetest part of you is purposed with attracting a repulsive insect,
an adult maggot,
the adult version of nature's most gag-inducing infant.
Some marvel at your novelty and uniqueness,
but the truth is,
your roots bathe in rotting fly death-goo because
you cannot elegantly satisfy your needs.
Bees buzz busily between lavender lanes.
Flowers ferment sweet syrups to share
with their featherless flying friends.
Their work breeds life within pretty purple parts and harmonious honey hives.
They trade nourishing nectar for fertilized seeds.
Lovely lavender droplets deposit dainty dew drops on fuzzy bee coats.
Pollen pours from pretty yellow pockets.
Stolen honey swirls & settles around the undrinkable bottom of my cloudy absinthe glass
and,
like Roman Numerals,
I = 1
Erik Svarr
Unknown date
Circa 2017
Smoking Patio
North Beach
San Francisco, Ca.
They coat their pallets in sweet syrup, attracting nitrogenous flies to their famine.
Flies,
such disgusting creatures.
Born into rotting flesh,
living on a diet of carcass and feces,
carrying disease and filth on their hairy, sickly bodies.
Being hatched into dead flesh and spending their adult lives feeding on animal **** must make dying in a Venus Flytrap's sweet syrup the gods' reprisal; a needed respite from sledgie meals of drippy dog dung and gobs of mangled possum flesh freshly flung up under a car's tire and bounced around its wheel-well and undercarriage before slopping & sopping in rain & road-grime and sweltering in the sun for 3 days before becoming a feast for rotten creatures such as flies.
But you're not a fly.
You're a Venus Flytrap.
You live where your needs aren't met.
Your body cannot create what's needed on its own.
It's evolved to take what it needs from the filthiest creatures on the planet.
The sweetest part of you is purposed with attracting a repulsive insect,
an adult maggot,
the adult version of nature's most gag-inducing infant.
Some marvel at your novelty and uniqueness,
but the truth is,
your roots bathe in rotting fly death-goo because
you cannot elegantly satisfy your needs.
Bees buzz busily between lavender lanes.
Flowers ferment sweet syrups to share
with their featherless flying friends.
Their work breeds life within pretty purple parts and harmonious honey hives.
They trade nourishing nectar for fertilized seeds.
Lovely lavender droplets deposit dainty dew drops on fuzzy bee coats.
Pollen pours from pretty yellow pockets.
Stolen honey swirls & settles around the undrinkable bottom of my cloudy absinthe glass
and,
like Roman Numerals,
I = 1
Erik Svarr
Unknown date
Circa 2017
Smoking Patio
North Beach
San Francisco, Ca.
