Black earring in the pink Doctor Servin earlobe a live dying bug
Flew onto this canvas sodden w gouache & acrylic ink in clear Elmer’s glue
Landed at the top, dragged its ass down to the bottom, made it too
a dry spot – that orange blood trail to the left of the south Jersey
ear, the brush was the bug – and stuck, exhausted, in pain and desperately
scared, flapping its wings as I type this – wait a second – I say mercy
but what would anyone say if accused of an unwitnessed murder
pjoepf Of vriecyh 
i’m a randomly clement god in the bugged realm of my home: i will angstingly invest in saving a wee beetle from the bathtub but let me find a trail of ants from garden door diagonaling the kitchen and i become an old testament wielder of old sneakers, whapping with abandon. at the post-rain slug-crossing i am a friendly air-lifter, though, helping them slowly in their snot-jackets over the stones and into the greenery i prolly-often erroneously assume is their aim, the airlifted slugs shouting sub-audible invective at my giant pious smile.
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