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Friday, December 16, 2005

The Electric Insect Graveyard by Ryan Bird

Mother Nature has always been gracious enough to bring
all the dead insects I could possibly need, straight to my feet.

All I ever had to do was look down, once in a while.
You see, every single body that goes dead, has a story to tell.

But once I lay claim to that body, that story becomes mine.
Don’t worry, they get their story back, just with a little added flare.

For instance, I laid the King Beetle to rest beside his golden toilet.
Unable to let go, his fans will report seeing him for years to come.

As per her parent’s wishes, I dressed the Lady Bug according to tradition.
The corset cracked her wings, and her bound-feet broke my heart.

The Praying Mantis, she was laid beneath the greenest patch of grass.
Her grave was covered by rocks, which up close, resembled severed heads.

The Firefly though, I keep that one secret-- no one knows about that body.
It’s strapped to a gurney in my laboratory, awaiting a lightning storm.

Ryan Bird
is man of a few words, most of which are dirty. The few clean words have been organized into sentences and dutifully filed into publications such as: Peter F Yacht Club, Quills, Iota, Opium.print, Grimm Magazine and dANDelion.

Copyright Ryan Bird 2005