So yes we know our teachers
are dying, and we are dying, our tribes are dwindling,
kids I’m looking at you
giving you these little
bright bulbs to string around
my tomb stone like a barbed wire
but only to let you blink my spirit
into the dark world rather
than keep things out
or in.
So as I was thinking
this lofty human bullshit
the grubworm came
jiggling like a jazz vibraphone,
heat-seeking missile
stop-motion flopping
toward my molded boot
close in shape and size
to the lovable and noble
roly-poly bug, but a gross
antagonistic daguerreotype
to squish, to retch, to swoon, to kill.
So when I said words are a swarm of black flies
thickening the sick
orange of that street light (as in, that one),
this is what I meant: