lives under polished rocks
her regrets iridescent
a buzzer no one
can bear to answer
eats nothing but hours
burns fireflies at both ends
turns ladybugs to tramps
bites flailing arms
flies through silver
screens transparent
flutters antennae
like trigger-fingers
crawls nakedly
as a transit of Venus
across the blank sliver
of your reflection
at three a.m.
& wakes at noon in a web
of coffee, cigarettes
a needle, a cross
one brow arched
over a thousand eyes
daring each day’s spider
to drain her

THE JULES BUG by: Gregory Crosby