it is fluttering between sadness and hatred,
as it -- hops and drops,
raises and sinks. then
the bug flies along the air current,
gliding along thin lines and layers --
cursive,
cutting across the lines at a slanted angle and
creates some geometrical patterns (that are)
quite meaningless and senseless to observe
towards the high sky it soars,
swiftly but squeamishly towards
the far black dot at the zenith
essentially central of everything
spinning around it --
or underneath it
the black figure overlooks the land --
oversees the world,
and giggles like a gent
mere the smile haunts badly enough
the bug is perplexed,
uncertain of complex emotions --
yet bewitched,
thrilled --
twixt excitement and intense fear --
and forgets to flutter,
or quakes too much and falls
at peak speed --
drooped
spiritually
'it could have been mine,'
it thinks to itself,
'it should have been mine.'
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