the fear of insects; a genus of orchid
look at our sweet hollow faces,
our bloodless faces, for we were made
to be pleasing: oh how we sing
our tiny fever pitch, a note that only
ants can hear, to keep them gone,
but not because we are afraid—look
there, the sky, the yolky sun, our world—
we are so lovely, men go crazy
naming us: look at our coiled ghostly
petals, awe-sung: we sing with our slight
pink lips and eyes—but not because we are
afraid—a thing so delicate as us: just
imagine their gray feet as thin as hair,
their little stinking bodies: imagine them
near: imagine you are fine like us: of course
they have come to take something from you:
look, we are so beautiful you’ve gone crazy
