Junebug

The beetle flies into 

the lamppost until it 

falls dead on to 

the harsh concrete below

But you want it pretty

But you want it poetic

But you want it meaningful

But you want it bearable

The shiny, green Junebug

drawn to sweet, golden

death, flies into the

captured sun until it

is taken by the

Indigo skies, by the

pinprick stars and the

moon-bright, westward winds

The gemstone-like bug

like my sweet icarus

flew too close to

the endless liquid fire

And so the 6-legged

angel falls, falls, falls

into solid seas of

man-made rock and

it is not remembered.

It is not remembered

as anything but an

insect, a dirty bug

And I made it 

pretty and poetic and 

meaningful and maybe he

will be remembered now

Because a beetle flew

into a lamppost until

it fell dead into

the cold world below