Bearded Wisps

The fairies are out!

Their scaly protrusions flutter and snap,

Wicked claws somehow rounded gently.

The moors are secluded,

Stray sheep eyeing the

Dull shine of a passing midnight car.

The elder trips and scuttles

Along the windy knolls.

His eyes are alight,

He seems alive,

Such human pursuits are joyous, irrational.

The cord of life runs, blaring, brilliant, bursts! then whips around his organs,

A trail of visceral fat that bleeds.

What creatures are these, that

Gently lay him down?

Twelve strong legs,

Shielded exoskeleton, such delicate

Touch they have.

Face up,

Eyelashes sparkling with powdered opal,

Those sticky, spiky purple petals

Close around him,

Infuse his lungs with a fantastical delusion,

And let him pass peacefully.