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#QuemPensa é Spiralist: “The Moribund Wasp”

#QuemPensa é Spiralist: “The Moribund Wasp”

Entering with a curious crawl,

surely nothing could befall

here upon the wasp so pleased

by the sweeping summer breeze.


But across the foggy glass

door I myself dare trespass –

there upon a ferrous can

sat the finger of a man.


In the headlights you were deer
caught by not a single tear
when presented vulnerable
to be rendered miserable.


Soon you could no longer stand

and over your chest you bent,

breathing terror in and out

like a bum without a handout.


Trembling wings were slowing down.
In pyrethrum did they drown.
Flouncing limbs pathetically,
and I gazed not sympathetically.


At no moment in the deed

stood this soul compelled to knead –

like a god of mercy cold

from a testament of old

‘til I grew bored of the mess

and its uneventfulness,

and I left you in the brusk

coldness of the falling dusk.

Then returning only to

kick you ‘round the morning dew,

bothered not to carry you

and flush you down the nearest loo.


Dead behind the see-through door
still you lay down on the floor.
Motionless I see you freeze
lifeless in the chilling breeze.


Ana Durão – Nervoso, por sistema III