The tower of gnats in the park knows I’m here.
They’re collectively thinking about me. I fear
Angry dogs, lurking pumas, mean crows and fierce squirrels,
But nothing so much as a bug mass that swirls
In silent, oppressive, projected awareness
Of me in proximity to the cloud’s thereness.
I can’t even breathe when approaching the column
Of thoughtsome, ’cause if I inhale I might swall’em,
But also because a black nimbus of gnats
Thinking me is just creepy. I need to rent bats.


One thought on “Nematocirrus

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