Sleepwriting moth.
Given the popular orient belief that moths are embodiments of the newly deceased. I catch myself getting absurdly happy when I see one perched in a ceiling corner or on my kitchen table. Maybe I really want a visit from a soul I love but my mind knows it needs to move on, and snap the fuck out of it. Pronto.
In the realms of dreaming and needing to finish the last of the demos for the album, I awake to find this poem on my laptop with not recollection of having written it at all. So unless there’s a ninja poet living in my quarters that I don’t know about I’m guessing I’m sleep writing again. Something I’ve not done in awhile. Not sure the poem is yet but it’s reminding me of some mutant moth made of haiku. I’m thinking I’ll file it here for future reference. It’s not quite curling into a song at the moment.
I am crackling mist
Shapes
I inspire
kiss
At the nape
of rusty necks
then
I flake.
Burn
I see love in the light
of dancing shapes
Fire
the smell of my wings sing
and singe
Sting
I am scorpion
born without the kill
7 years
times up
skin itches
soul
in transit
grab
I am moth
fly