Yevelin steakimee

Into the face of the rose I fell to be leapt upon by the color
changing crab spider that waited patiently within for my
arrival; that’s how he makes his living by pouncing
upon the unsuspecting like every other honest
predator but mankind who has taken
warfare to the extreme; if it’s not
your oil we want we’ll take your
land, now surrounded by
perfume like a chicken
basted in rose water
I feel my
ife’s
blood
being sucked
out of me and
his venom courses
through my veins inducing
the big dreamless sleep of forever
like the 17 year locust I spent the majority
of my life underground to finally crawl up the
tree to emerge with wings and song to mate and die
the last hurrah, together my cicada brethren we make
the sky around us ring like the sound we were taught in
the 1950’s of alien flying saucers landing and taking off
we are all God’s creatures don’t forget even with our
big bug eyes and lacey wings and six arms and legs
contrast the May Fly which lives one day as an
adult to mate and die like in the graveyards
during the Black Death in medievil Europe,
the town cryer makes his rounds calling
bring out your dead and setting them
on fire, the poison in our hearts as
great as any plague, we admire
machinery over humanity if
only the end were nigh
like the doom sayers
cry on every corner
but the Apocolypse
already came
and went
and
we
slept
through it
bored waiting
for the very next
technological innovation
which the ludite Ducabors
in my brain will set about destroying
to preserve and restore my home amongst
the familiar trees and forests long after we
are gone to ashes and dust and forgotten lusts
now night shades growing in the shadows of what we
fought and strived for so hard always to have a better
life when death was really in the making and it’s high time
I went to bed and let the sugar plum fairies dance in my head