When Gregor Samsa awoke, he discovered
he was being fucked by a giant beetle. - Franz Kafka
These leathers make me beetle,
press me six legged and doggy:
Waiting. Crouched.
He is vintage Russian Cosmonaut;
sealed at the neck, unable
to breathe. He is hard.
Soon we are insects, insectivorous
and vertebrate. I feel his bone
scrape my bone. His skin
The proboscis of his gas mask
scours my shell for weakness,
probes and we change heads.
His helmet is claustrophobic, solid,
brittle against the beetle's wing.
No comments:
Post a Comment