Moths...
There are moths again.
Thy flutter and flick
against the bedroom
lamps.
They flutter and flicker
like halogen vamps.
After work they lay
dead in sleep,
the sun has come
up,
So they bake in
the heat.
Carcasses of dead ones
litter the floor,
so many moths
I can't open the door.
each is my pet
and my pets I do
keep.
So many moths
tangled in carpet,
in lampshades,
sheets,
and wooden tables.
They fly through the smoke
and land in the tray,
Those goddamn moths,
Won't they please stay away?