The Fly Or Me?

I feel the heat of your words

and the pull upon my skin and in my mind, a memory seared into the butter of my brain.

How can I reach those same heights as before?

In echoes, a fly buzzes in my ear.

My pot is empty.

What should I call this plenty?

of movement and thought and words.

Is it mortal energy or given by a deity

or is it pure cosmic energy? Harnessed by atoms and molecules

going round in a story like the receiver in my head? Why? How?

Can I capture this force and use it, bottle it, settle the cause?

And will you understand it, those who don’t yet believe in

the universe in a jar theory?

This second rate poem created just for fame sake for the glory of my name.

To lift me out of the pit into which I fall when alone for too long with only a fly for some company.

Who lands upon my knee annoyingly. Who is more pathetic being? The fly or me?

Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

Self-taught artist and writer

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