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Click hereWhy should a man love a cricket, and not a cockroach?
They both have wings.
A little cricket lost herself in my house, and there
The poor girl is, lonely in the darkness, somewhere.
She sings and sings.
No answer.
I drift into some vague semblance of sleep,
Writing this poem about her.
Somehow, I cannot approach
The quality of that version
In consciousness. She's only a cricket.
But I love her.
Her little insect gloss,
Pristine, still.
Ah, here's the difference!
It's because she sings!
Yes, singing her heart out
Because she is lonely. Like me, I guess.
Grown man, in love with
A tiny insect, how sad is that?
Or I would love her, that is.
If I could figure out how to
Stick it
In something that little.
If I had not read the comment, I would have never thought about "fucking bugs and little girls." Anyway, I enjoyed the poem -- my interpretation of it.
between this afternoon and dawn I will certainly note this as among my favorite of today's poems. Oh, I just noticed what another seemed to infer. I didn't see that at all, or as what you meant. Funny isn't it, how we all bring our own issues to different works... thanks for the smile.
the ending does not fit this poem-- it is awful. Fucking bugs and little girls (or at least the illusion of it just turned my stomach) Maybe I am misreading the lines. The rest has promise, is quite good, which is why I wrote this at all