randy crosby

the moth

Puddles gather along cracked divots
Water lines her back and mutes her face
The moth flies--transcends, awake she pivots
Seeing the moth wet in escape and haste
contradicting the aches in her throat
and the wounds behind her quiet eyes
Manipulation forces the moth in hope
that convulsions will force her to forget the lies
Moist motion alive within decayed curtains
Her desperate flavor surmounts the crumbling tile
In tense dedication she makes certain
that within her is love for awhile

Beyond abstraction the moth defeats
mutilated social preservation