Tuesday, January 17, 2012


The army marching over every field
Disturbs the insects hiding in the grass.
A whir of beating plastic wings will yield
Them up into the waiting beaks that pass
Along behind, in mobile feathered wait.
These brilliant colors make the army's flag
And in the solders' wake, they defecate
So boldly brilliant blue butterflies lag
And light among the flattened grass to lay
Their eggs upon it. Worms will one day hatch
To feed and grow, pupate, then fly away
To find an army in another patch.
A mobile ecosystem on the go,
Where both creation and destruction grow.

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