Chattering cicadas
Glorying in their numbers
Overwhelming everything
Til even the most voracious predators
Can't eat another crunchy bite.
Still they come, crashing like buzzing cascades
Over the tired, beaten land.
Their compound eyes looking forward, never back
At the desolation they've left behind.
Secure in their majority, never knowing
That glory is fleeting, and huge numbers divide.
Soon their lifeless husks will fall
Amply fertilizing the next generation
Of what they tried to consume.
This blog fazes fascists
Emergence
Counter-revolution
"Freedom!" cries the willing slave.
"Truth!" yells the pathological liar.
"Greatness!" groans the pasty nazi,
Whose only claim to greatness
Is in the competitive fields
Of gullibility and mediocrity.
Turn down your noise, and listen for one moment:
I am the other
That your politicians warned you about.
I am not your sympathizer, fellow-traveler, or comrade
And I am not on your side.
Re: Tro
Once was,
Now isn't.
Miss it?
Nostalgia cripples,
Memory hinders.
And yet,
Present slithers;
Future withers.
What's gone
For which
You long?
Scarabs
One can't be tough and beautiful...
Though one must be both
To be anyone at all.
The powers declare,
"You can be a dung beetle, or a butterfly.
"There is no in-between."
But I've seen the most exquisite lepidoptera
Drinking salt like nectar
From a puddle of piss.
And have you ever see the afternoon sun
Glint like a beacon from the unfurled wings
Of a dung beetle, taking flight
After a hard day of rolling up bullshit?
Beckoning twilight
The beckoning twilight
Entices you beyond these walls
To the open sky, variegated and dynamic
Shifting shades like the leaves
Not green to yellow, but blue to black
Where holistic hues mingle
Melt together, fade away
Lost in the in-between
Only to find themselves among the stars.
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