IN YOUR FACE


Eetsy beetsy tsetse fly—
“un_____ hairy __it,” a spy—
flick of hand
and
then you die.

Buzz electric
stubborn, hearty
so eclectic
you are party
to a wedding,
flash mob,
riot
Islam,
animistic quiet,
whiz of bullets
past my face.
Glands so thicc
and far from chaste.

You’re Dip-ter-a, true enough,
I’m aware of
nothing tough
as you and Heartbreak
riding rough
through farm and country,
cowboy style,
horses sick as Pvt. Pyle.
Jungle stalkers,
cold, morose.
Fly on wall
of jungle ghost.

Little tiny irritant,
as I bleed in bush-bound tent.
Bringing life,
a parasite,
to suck my withered teat
at night.
My world: Diablo concept art.
Stark white bones grip Rudyard’s heart,
in contrast to the blackened fist
(melanin and amethyst).
Away you little refugee,
Send the bot fly, golly gee
Bother someone
else
—–not me.

—–(shiny little compound-eye,
—–flick of hand,
—–and
—–then you die)

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