Misanthropy

Free Verse

A parade of faces twin eyes over nostrils spin like dancers on an icy stage silent as a smoking

wick

til desultory voices flick, frantic sirens so

I reverberate and waken to a buzz

of delicious lavender.

Insects make me wish I was a tiny dragon or a purple smudge strafing turquoise ponds,

I would dine on fetid air shining off the mud

my wings could swallow ether for my fuel

my bug eyes landing on rows of summer snow and cotton moss

snaking over soil, them

tidy quiet cruel

crops of men.