Because The Fly Wins...

Poem By O.S. Brooks

I lumber along the woods
swatting away a horsefly
It's trying to eat through my shirt
Something about my flesh
-Maybe its warmth-
Is sending the bug into a frenzy
So much so
that it can't fly straight

It bites me
Sticks an empty straw right through my back
And relaxes
as if it my blood
my pain
is a drug
that sends it into a dream
where it is king over the aphids

It dies there
Fat and full of pride
crushed beneath my palm
'It's salty'
it must have thought
'A lot like the blood of retarded rats'
'Amazingly like chicken'
To it I was just a meal
A rest stop on its way to the farm

I wonder how the cow must feel
Thousands dance along it's spine
incamping themselves till death
and it has no palms
nothing to pray with
and the beast dies
a horrible death
without honor
being life blood for others
a source of food
for over-sized humans
a target for vampire insects
Like this one
stained upon me
Smiling somewhere in fly heaven
because it got the last laugh
within the final moments of it's life
for vomiting piss in to my veins

I wonder
often when the silence kills the day
how God can let this be
-a numb existance-
to move forward
as if we deserve it
where men kill one another
for freedom
or sport
or insanity
where friends die
before 30
and drugs
take over

I'm walking
trying not to inhale a cloud of insects
who are attracted
to my heavy fragranced lotion
It is hot
The field is alive with ill temper
my car is with the repair man
something about the brakes again
he will not over charge me this time

I get it...
Everything costs
With every action
comes a reward and or punishment
I will pay some how for this some how
most likely in the solice of my dreams
I get it...
No matter how rich I reach to be
I will die alone
Like a wasp stuck in a bottle
fighting for freedom
Knowing the inevitable

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