Author Information
Disasterpiece Cremations
The moth is but a staled butterfly
With graceful flight
Lusting over the sweet perfume
Companion of the endless night
Like a star that burns lukewarm
In the belly of a cave
Clearing out a path provoking
Spitting in the sun’s cruel eye
Blind him so slightly
For the moth is but a butterfly
The bat is a bird
The moth is but a rag
And you throw your darts
Like torpedoes set a-flight
And pin me to the wall
Grinding your sands between
Your salted teeth
I shy away
Withdrawn
For I am but a moth
Blackest bat about the cave
Blackest sun upon
The shore’s cruel lips
