"entomologist" poems
I stick my fingers in my throat
and throw up a basket of swallowed suns;
under it, my tongue is parched and pinned in place
like a dried house moth on an entomologist’s hand
that nurses it back to life
and demands devotion in return,
a poem in return.
But I have purged the feeling being out of me
like a cold, cold man now averse to the ways of his younger lover
who is alive for all of it — the lust and the starving kisses
and the quiet deaths in the morning only to haunt at night.
I leave letters for my bitten nails without meaning a single word,
and go to lie with the superficiality, the hypocrisy nesting under my tongue.
I have started writing poems again — see where they take me this time
and find myself here, once more
where a fool unpacks her baggage and out I come rolling
like a dead body with a foaming mouth, a brown moth burning under the sun,
a leech that scurries under salt and needles,
slowly eroding like sanity.
She thinks, therefore, she is, they say,
but at what cost? She looks on and pens this poem
with a tiny smile on her lips.
Jul 18, 2022
Jul 18, 2022 at 8:24 PM UTC
I find you
the lappet moth
like slug or bat
with fuzzy ears
stuck dead with
nothing except
the toxins of
my fever
abnormally
high and
boiling
how
perfect it is
to be under
your legs
bugs
or none
my fingers will
do the
crawling for
any insect
camouflaged
in the skin
dig
the nails
now
bits of flesh
under
tiny specks
of blood
gather
and your net
snags
words I’ve
never uttered
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 2:49 PM UTC
only dead boys hold insects like they're something
special
only a dead boy would let a mantis in his heart and
preying was always a better descriptor
because hymns burned in my throat and
i scratched a cross into my palm but i was never lucky enough to scar
but
oh, dead boy
bug lover
enduring a thousand lashes to save the soul of a beetle -
i'll help you peel off all your scabs to make sure they scar
thick tissue skin memory sometimes you think scars are the closest you'll get
to a wedding ring
you're a suicide king i think a kingdom of hearts was never the safest place for you i
don't think you understand the way your subjects' hearts are strung because
entomology entomos everything you love is cut to bits
and on the fourteenth of february you told me
the only purpose of a flower
was to hold
a spider
inside
and i guess that was why you painted all your walls with roses i
hope your garden smells as sweet
covered in your misfortunes
only a dead boy would let
a praying mantis so close
to his neck
oh, you freak. disgusting.
i ate the last one that let me this close.
you told me {if i die
leave my body
in the forest
by
an anthill}
maybe you don't realize we were doomed from the start or maybe you're just naïve but
honey you're a dead boy and
corpses don't fall in love.
[you're so genuine it hurts and i think
i could teach you how to be a fake -
nobody likes an honest man
i could teach you how to hate the world but you said
{the only one
i hate here
is me}]
freakish child.
all you see in every rorschach is mantes and
decapitations and
wedding rings you are an aberration,
suicide king entomologist your throne room
was full of termites.
with hallowed cheeks and hollowed churches,
i will assure that you scar
dead boy, if you die
i will put maggots
in your chest
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
how are you preaching?
with your teeth broken
i can draw lines all day, where i please and when i please
and the lines mean nothing
lit a cigarette
i tried to send you roses but
they wilted as i touched them
many ******* exist outside of your body but only if you let yourself experience them
for how much i enjoy cutting the wings off of butterflies, i never want to be an entomologist
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
It started over night
Attached the innocent
That’s not right
The army to many to count
I stand alone
A calculated defense I mount
I will NEVER accept defeat
My four innocent babies
Lay listless at my feet
Exhausted My Open wounds need treatment
At the end of the day
But that’s little cosilation
Compared to what my babies are suffering
Not a word do they say
Bewildered looks of confused pain
Swollen welts track their skin
The sadness in their eyes
the situation they are in
Their Backs, arms and legs
Mark the horrors of the day
They just want mommy to
Make it go away
I know they don’t understand
not sure what to say
At least I try
They still show love, exceptence I want to cry
They give unconditional love
Only this grace comes from
Heaven God above
This gives me the courage to FIGHT
Planning my attack strategy
As I prepare dinner
I make a list
We may be battered swollen bruised
But we are not broken or defeated
My tools are depleted
FLEAS don’t care who they attack
I have bites on me a well
at first I didn’t know why I couldn’t tell
Now Im winning
Armed with the Internet knowledge
I have become an entomologist
Arradicating the species
It’s to early to tell
Half past two a.m.
No sleep again tonight
Oh well
We are all sleeping
With one eye on our surroundings
A false sense of safety
As cautious optimism dances
In my head
There are no more fleas
on my dogs, in my bed
Carpet, drapery, bedding
Its a tremendously large task to complete
Struggling to prepare a list before
I nod off my to sleep
I will not
can not
accept defeat
If you don’t get a handle quickly
on these fleas
They will take over
One female can lay 200 eggs
Diatomaceous earth food grade
The ultimate destruction
It’s Considered the best natural alternative
Safe for humans and animals
Kills bugs
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 4:27 AM UTC
If I'm an exotic butterfly desperate to be discovered,
You're an entomologist bored with his profession.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC
I haven’t been this happy in quite some time.
I still feel tinges of pain
But they never last long.
They no longer feel the same.
They’re distant you see,
far from the depths of my heart
For the holes that echoed cavernous, fill with webs, holding together what once fell apart.
And I smile.
Because I’m happy
Not obligated
or covering up something more raw and real
but genuinely happy
that’s part of his appeal
These webs catch feelings,
ones of warmth
a calming peace
Those little arachnid legs
will wrap carefully these from greatest to the least
and store them away
deep in the depths of my heart
to call upon those memories
when I feel I'm to fall apart
Hopefully the light lasts
even in my darkest of days
and the butterflies he's hatched
scare the moths aways
away
they'll fly leaving the fields bright and clear,
and comforting darkness
sent off to disappear
But yet, we all know
that moths attract to light in dark
but maybe I'll learn to love them,
as the Entomologist holds my heart.
Dec 19, 2017
Dec 19, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
instead, they send me a glow of esperance
and expounding answers through the back of fireflies
which I now must entrap for further examination
like a sterile entomologist milling around
in the someday
blazing with unbridled wrath
the reason barred by all gods
only at nightfall disclosed
within my grasp but in the somewhere
preferably after the daytime shadows
have fueled my will in the antrum
a modest perishing cold revives splendidly
and I awake by the sound of my rumbles
from what seems to be one oblivious moment of eternity now
I swing an idly leg of my dented bed
pull the other inanimate carrier behind
she's here, whenever the eyes open
this time far back in the mirror right across
that stares back at me with those withered and dilated eyes
underneath two unilluminated crescents
uncertain, if she sobs or smiles
the night is nigh, better hurry
Jul 23, 2020
Jul 23, 2020 at 1:21 AM UTC
instead they send me a glow of esperance
and expounding answers through the back of fireflies
which I now must entrap for further examination
like a sterile entomologist milling around
in the someday
blazing with unbridled wrath
the reason barred by all gods
only at nightfall disclosed
within my grasp but in the somewhere
preferably after the daytime shadows
have fueled my will in the antrum
a modest perishing cold revives splendidly
and I awake by the sound of my rumbles
from what seems to be one oblivious moment of eternity now
so I swing an idly leg of my dented bed
pull the other inanimate carrier behind
she's here, whenever the eyes open
this time far back in the mirror right across
that stares back at me with those wizend and dilated eyes
underneath two unilluminated crescents
uncertain, if she sobs or smiles
the night is nigh, better hurry
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 5:28 PM UTC
I'm no
entomologist
so I don't know
if you have veins
but if you do
treachery runs
in them at least
according to the stories.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 6:18 PM UTC