the moth-bodies gather like fingernail clippings under the spiderweb behind the toilet tank: to sweep them away would be to attempt to sweep away God; I am a true Christian and will let my bathroom go uncleaned another day.
aNNiE lEt Me Inside Of Your HOUSE
hail, gray-hatted visitor! a moth is a fuzzing, perambulating ferm-frond and God’s holiest palm-pilgrim, and you are welcome to my porch.
yEs yES hello tO you Too AnNie. I see You HaVE LightS on. LeT me Inside, To Eat The Light
ah, my sister in blood and life! two years ago I saw a moth die by a campfire in the Blue Ridge Mountains. I was rereading Rimbaud at the time.
ANNiE sTop your REASONING. thEre Is Light Inside And I wANT to EAT IT. oPEN THE dOOR and LET ME opEN mY mOUTH
the cry of the owls that night served as a funeral chorus. were they your cousins, moth-friend?
mmM YES YES yeS LeT mE iNSidE and EaT The LiGHt, then Questions
fingernails of curling paper, they fell onto my modest dinner of beans –the next morning it looked as if someone had tried to fry sage. they curled terribly.
ANNIE I WANT TO PUT THE LIGHT IN MY MOUTH
so did your cousins in the Blue Ridge mountains, my spectacular disaster darling; they charred and sputtered into fantastic flame-skeletons!
mMMMmy MmmMOUTh wants FIRE IN ITTTT
LeT mE in your DEATH HOUSE ANNWARD DILLUM
you will spatter like new grease! I warn you! your mouth parts will snap like fresh matches from the box, and I will read Rimbaud by the pilot light of your thorax!
I CARE NOT. foR RIMBAUD. ANNiE. give me a LIGHT to put my MOUTH on
what would Augustine say –
THONK THONK THONK THONK THONK