Fly

I lie on my back listening to the sound of a fly dying,
buzz buzz buzz
His little flailing legs put up a fight every so often.
He lies on his back too, staring at the same ceiling as me,
the same spinning fan.
He too contemplates the life ebbing from his body
but his end seems nearer and in fear
he struggles.
I think I have more time than him
but I may not.
I may be soon buzzing on my back
in terror
as my own darkness closes in on me.
For now, I abandon the thought
and sweep him away with the dust.

Bird

A tiny bird sits in your ringed hands,
Wringing hands
cease to be the still perch for the sparrow,
Grackle
growing black and large,
taking flight.
Empty hands close to hold each other.
The warmth quickly fades.
Unsure hands pick each others skin
in a secret ritual.
Slightly open mouth.
no sound.
Wide-eyed and embarrassed because
you would "caw caw"
call out
if no one else were there.
Instead, to bide time,
you twirl a stick in your fingers.

Ants

the ants travel up and down the tubes,
my veins,
careful footsteps through the platelet covered paths
from a moldy kidney,
useless filter,
to a perforated septum,
allow empty chambers to form a
collapsing organ of hysteria.
They travel there, too.
My wandering uterus is their playground.
Black clot lining sliding down as they climb
along the walls.
I birth their tiny forms
one-by-one
into the cold stagnant air.
They clamour to get inside me once more
to be warm and comforted,
although
I am cooling fast.
Nice
to be wanted once again.