
Too Many Bugs (33 Haikus by JHM)
My voice is choking
from too many grasshoppers.
I wish i could sing.
Cicada cadence:
Everything must be written
and it will be law.
My mother was stung,
and by serendipity
i came to being.
How to cover ass:
Burrow like a Cicada;
Hide from predators.
Voices of crickets
describe our moment of death.
Tiny violins.
All crickets must die.
Their tiny violins crushed
by the conductor.
I don’t like roaches,
because they make me jealous;
They scare girls away.
Metamorphosis:
Gregor Samsa is my friend
and so is his dad.
Music and laughter.
According to Kant we can’t
understand insects.
Heavenly beehive:
Where angels are the insects
stinging men to death.
Katydid or not
is the telescoping gag
that fossilizes us.
For mother mantis:
I did not want to exist.
Why did you mate me?
Is there shame in this?
Lorca was devoured by
fascists and maggots.
Insect universe:
Where sound devours silence
and we are silent.
Bunuel loved insects.
He knew what was coming to him.
They took him away.
Dante observed bugs;
In Empyrean, angels
swarm heaven like bees.
The universe drones
and a wurlitzer of bones
whistles a graveyard.
Creeley lost an eye
and that socket was a hive
for a swarm of bees.
The katydid speaks
in a language that fools know:
Binary Hipster.
Who killed the poet?
Only Lorca knows the truth:
The sound of crickets.
My corpse is shameful.
Insects devour my sex
while i am naked.
What i expected:
God dreamed me and then woke up.
Thank you for the flies.
Bugs Devour God:
His great book is on a vine
that xtians consume.
If God were a bug,
I would stomp it and crush it.
I hate intruders.
You make me human.
Exoskeleton in you
dissolves in your sex.
The universe dies,
and like a praying mantis
is a cannibal.
There is no way out.
We are in the roach motel
that god left to us.
The flies will signal
the place where the poets died;
Via Appia.
Bugs that frighten me
scatter me in my silence.
Can’t turn on the light.
What we will become:
Insect robots created
with anguish and steel.
Flies of the future:
Nanorobot memories
of humanity.
Piping is over;
Supersedure now begins.
Long live the new queen.
What does space smell like?
It smells like honey sulfer
stung by our being.
For Mike C.
_______________________________
7-22
i have added this Haiku by CheeseFlap:
Are we not bugs too?
Gnawing at god’s creation?
Trapped by gravity?
and my Haiku response:
Our thoughts are fossils;
Creations sticky resin
is where they reside.