Wednesday, January 29, 2020


Wrapped in my own silk wings, hanging securely in the dark with all the others, head down full of blood and dreams.  Someone is unwrapping, flapping, slapping, falling down and out the cave door.  Time to eat. Moon is full. Insects glitter flitter tickle my acoustics.  Dive. Swerve. Pivot.  Pfft. This one's sour. Chase that one moving fast. It's crunchy. Heehee.  Next no taste, fluff, sounded wrong anyway.  Hup. Tastes like blood -- must be a skeeter. Too much traffic -- go higher. Wall. Roof. Chimney. Higher. Tree.  Bugs high in the sky.  Try. No sound. No ping. Silent bugs -- go higher. Not moving.  Bugs too high. Go higher.  Blacking out.  Falling.  Back to the cave.  Wrapped in my own silk wings. Others all around.  Dreaming about bugs that can't be reached.  Silent.

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