#3

Mosquito on a white wall, lifting itself
to the color, mistaking it for light,
almost pathetic the way its marionette legs
hang in the parking garage.

Plastic cup dome, the dried beer inside
hugs the bug--it twitches in flight
then settles on the surface. Inside
those wings, satellites singing a message

and before you know it, you are feeling
sadness, a taste for blood, the closing in
walls of the structure. Your back tickles,
pins and needles before the mosquito is gone.