Thursday, August 30, 2012


artwork: ralph murre

by Mary Wehner

Black fly in the wedge of bark,
thin wings resting—
body, boneless still.
Difficult life, that of a fly,
picking through shit,
starved for the sweet in the stubble.
Believe you me,
I too see with a bulged eye,
I too want to step firmly
in the warm decay,
suck the heart from whatever I find.
O Speck!
Ready yourself for flight.
Pity me my grounding.

~ previously published in “…or the opposite” (Red Hydra Press)