Little Dead Fly, Stuck to my finger.
In the contours of my sweeping prints
Your gory story lingers.
As a man, instructed only to feel,
I channeled homebound ugliness to stick to my heel.
Put an ultimate period on baby Spring’s news,
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.
I embraced a moment, wrath made me a stooge,
My anger played cataclysm, your life made a rouge.
Little fly, most would neglect,
Only bigger than a breadbox deserves our respect.
We’re a broken, hurt and flawed world,
But I’ve learned to disconnect.