Caveat: Poem #974 “A walk around my mother’s neighborhood in the north of Queensland, where there were a lot of bugs”

ㅁ
They swarmed: a cloud of tiny bugs that -
distilling atmosphere with wings -
as if hyped up and stoned on drugs that
impelled orbits more than stings.

The green of trees and breeze-bent grasses
made better views than bug-strewn glasses.
In water standing by the road
they buzzed beside a flattened toad.

Unreadable unlike books' pages,
the path unfolded asphalt planes
and hiding mother earth's hot veins,
concealing geologic ages.

I stopped to take a picture then
and waved my hand around again.

– a sonnet.

picture

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