The fly don’t ponder why he
Parties on a pile of dog shit
He just does it
He don’t hold his breath
Or dream of cleaner pastures
To grab grub
That dog shit is all he knows
And all he loves
Maybe he fears the finger
That turns him to mush
But he don’t miss out on the
Dirty little opportunity
To munch
The spider’s labyrinth
Is avoided, as such
Still he can get caught
And become her lunch
Then does the spider
Concern herself
With what fills the fly’s guts?
Or does the dog shit just blend in
With the creamy, the crunch?
Perhaps she prefers
The cleaner bugs
Perhaps, like the fly
She doesn’t think about it much
It is just something
That she does
In a complete ritual
The dog finds her hunched
In the corner
And lets its tongue
Scoop her up
She’s metabolised
Inside her the fly
And they’re all back to square one
In the morning the dog
Will squat in the grass
Let it shoot from its arse
And a new fly will come
A new spider will score
A new dog will not even pause
Before taking its bite
No consideration of wrong
Or of right
None stupid, none bright
They just execute their nature
Right up to final flight
Endmost spin
And closing crap
Imagine if humans did that?
by Lyric Deep.
Lyric Deep™ 