Little Dead Fly, Stuck to my Finger

Little Dead Fly, Stuck to my finger.

In the contours of my sweeping prints

Mental sprints,

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.

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