All of you below
Are little tiny ant-people
Bumbling through these funny streets
Hidden beneath my shadow.

With their cut cuticles of hair
And those knotted clumps of muscle
Around the pebble streets they roam
To destinations unknown

All around are towers of steel
All air conditioned and ventricled
Made of stone and office drone
They are the buzzing hives of employables

On the street the blood cells meet
On embolic artery of Battery
On varicose Vein of Sansome
The exoskeleton of this city
Curbed with Grey
and auburn streaks

Far away
Beyond the bay
In the neck of a wood's decay
The tiny ants feast on bark
As cars fly past on an interstate.

Buzzing bees, crawling ants, lady bugs on your knuckles.
Does the sun wave and wear sunglasses?
Or do the trees never have enough leaves?

Don't act so sweet I don't feel the cavity until it's too late.
But you're not candy.

Grow and nurture, talking care to clean up your wake.
Would you come back for a plant that no one watered?

Crane Fly,
I don't mind your harmless flutter
across my bathroom tiles.
another living thing in my apartment
actually brings me some comfort.
but you need to stop flying straight at my *****,
every time I try to urinate.
it is impolite.
and completely unacceptable.
and although I know you pose no actual threat to my genitalia,
I don't want you landing on it.
when you try to, I freak out,
and *** all over the place.
and throughout time men have never hesitated to **** others who threatened their manhood.
I imagine millions of human lives have been lost because of *****.
I have no respect for that.
thou shalt not ****.
there's no ***** clause.
but let this serve as a final warning,
because you are a guest in my house,
and you only continue exist,
because I allow it.
so stay the hell away form me,
when my ***** is exposed,
and I am vulnerable,
or my survival instincts will end you.

In silence, I pray with a reference never before known to me.
It is soft and fragile,
tentative, like a child,
small, like a grasshopper.
It floats from one ray of light to another,
with a loud whoosh that does not ask for pardon for its sound.
It speaks in a tight whisper,
throat raspy from lack of use,
or maybe too many cigarettes.
It flips onto that same cloud it floated on earlier,
moth wings flapping like some incandescent bug
lit up by the electricity of a bug-zapper.

Fear does not silence it.

--It rings its glamorous wings without entropy--

And so I offer a call into that wide madness of space.

It does not answer.

       I did not expect it to.

And that is okay.

Mouth-foamed tremors
Spineless sinners

Ashe soaked layers
Mindless prayers

Hate thy father
Love, why bother
Sad goes farther

Candle carver
Shapely mother
Child she'll smother

they say showing your true self can be scary
and that people like to avoid it
like bugs crawling under your skin
sinking their teeth from within

theres no way to escape the mites
that pump you full of frights
they linger and quiver
until you're stuck wondering
why you're getting thinner.

I lay to rest and shut my eyes
What dream shall fall before I rise
I doze off into beauteous sleep
Oh 'I pray the Lord my soul to keep'.

Next I feel impending harm
Awe-stricken gaze peers to my arm
I watch as bugs crawl under skin
They journey in, oh journey in.

Maggots and worms and crawly things
My cries form sheer, horrific screams
My body decaying, a death-colored rot
My end be the only thing that I sought.

I woke up startled, scratching skin
Worried intruders had found a way in
Hours have passed, the feeling has not
Lord, in my mind, may my senses be fought.