The Flies Are Watching

Oh how the larvae sing of what
They’d craved but what never was
The forest of fertility
With winds that kept their wings abuzz

Their tongues are licking clean
The caul from sickly fetus-dreams
Their bones protrude like fingers
Reaching through their crooked teeth

They watch from above
They watch from below
They watch from above
They watch from below

And so they come undone
In ruthless harmony
They’re eating their own young
Absorbing their stained purity
They molt their locust-shell
Bodies as they rot with age
And turn their rueful eyes from hell
From their created plague

They molt their locust-shell
Bodies as they rot with age
And turn their rueful eyes from hell
From their created plague