little slug
lived his life
thinking he was a snail
until a man came along
ripped off his shell
and covered him in salt

Sleep when the rain falls,
dirt and ash make the bed bugs crawl.
I'm contempt
watching spiders scurry across the ceiling wall.

lightning bugs always know where to find me.

I mean this literally. I mean they consistently land on my fingertips when I’m gesturing, I mean, they rest on my shoulders when I’m dancing, I mean they find my knees when I’m wandering.


I’m perpetual motion.

They flit onto my skirt from my parents field in the forest, dozens of ecstatic chromatic insects, missing my tonsils this time and tickling the back of my neck.

And I’m clothed in phosphorescent resplendent incandescent light.

red canvas sneakers
crush a bug on the playground
right where the crayon grass meets the chalk pavement
her feet are
tiny
but the bug is even more insignificant
so it’s all relative, i guess.

I've only been camping a handful of times and this is the first we've been in about a year and its very nice and the outdoors is very comforting.  The stars in the sky shine so bright tonight, they remind me of my lovers smile. The bugs chirp and make so many noises it keeps me up, at late hours. The weather is hot and its humid so my hair sticks to my face and I sweat. I have to *** so bad but everyone is asleep and the bathrooms are unbearably disgusting. It took us almost an hour to set the tent up and we had hamburgers and hotdogs for dinner. The bonfire was warm. I can't wait to get out and go swimming in the lake later. Camping is alright.

In the state of the Lone Star,
the sun begins to pound on my pale skin
As summer begins

I'm out of school
I'm out of a social life
I'm flooded in books
Required and wanted alike

Sweltering heat makes the air thick
Like sweet Southern molasses
The mosquitoes are out full force
And the ants are too

Old ladies and men on porch swings
Speaking quietly to themselves
The young and active squabble in yards and pools
Whilst under parent's watchful eye
The young and geeky sit in front of screens
Fingers and thumbs moving away

Freedom
The boiling *** of summer freedom
Drips on the stove of the people
Calming them into summer's lazy drift...

Those are the realities of a Southern Summer.

A plethora of metallic chords
echo bluntly through a
hollow skull. The moonlight
burns many pallid, young
faces as they bathe in pools
of dull light.

Watching, waiting, wanting.
My breathing is shallow and
powerlessly, up here, I sit.
Like a hopeful hawk, I perch.
The shame a hawk feels when
likened to a vulture.

But I won't pick at your bones,
rolling as the Earth explodes
like fireworks. I have no
desire for dead meat, destroyed
by shells and their melancholic
tune or heart strings plucked
like a harp.

Two of you scuttle beneath me,
through the dead and the dirt
like cockroaches, burying into  
the ground.
"So long my sorry friends" says
the hawk as he swoops and
dives to catch his prey.