Sunday, January 3, 2010

Dream Beetle (draft #4)

I sit and sink into the dry turf of a hillside's fair chalky meadow
clouds mixed crimson magenta
months of ash masked sunsets the world over.
My mind sees beetles burrowing through the dung of my dreams
metallic rose black its carapace,
mandibles grinding rock to dust
palpi feeling for food,
digesting stone-dust their waste back-filling tunnels
like analid these anthropods mix like no sex does.

I now know as no sense can tell:
the sun enriches my skin with vitamin D
my eyeballs turn back toward my brain
my eyelids flutter as a butterfly
and like Chuang-Tzu ages ago
beauty amazes confounds confuses amuses;
leaves ever after an awe of the unknown.

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