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?
This blog fazes fascists
Scarabs
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.
Magats
This land still crawls with magats
Gorging on the entrails of a rotten fox
Inching here and there, vomiting poison
As they die from the inside
And the decay sets in.
Dripping venom onto the parched earth
As if to supplicate its desiccation
Then slouching away, too careless to see
That it evaporates so quickly
Under the white-hot sun
Whose increasing fury cannot be denied.
Spineless, brainless, heartless
Operating upon the worst of instinct:
Hate, fear, greed, ignorance; relics of atavism
Evolution has passed them by.
Soon, the wretched creatures will be endangered
A refuge must be found - X marks the spot
Gather them up with begloved hands
(As one might whilst handling waste)
And deposit them in their natural state:
Beneath the bottom
Of the garbage dump
Of history.