Fruit-fly

You taught me

How to be

A student of

My own ignorance

Parts being

Movable, this

Beginning, middle

Sorrowful I am

Going to die

Without knowing

Story’s end

The fruit-fly

Cannot fathom

Its transformation

After expiration

One of billions, making

Recombinant proteins

Rearranging DNA

We are gods now

Pulling strings, shaping

Destiny beyond breath

But do not

Be fooled

We will

Revert to

Beasts again

By nightfall

Today, before sunrise

Inside the belly of

An old street car

I shot

Three musicians

Bending light

Seeing what

Could be born

Out of darkness

And potential

One pure

Moment captured

Perfect, except

Hands placed

Slightly awry

True to fate, it

Already has a

Soul that refuses to

Inhabit a newer

More polished body

Publish that one

Poetry is alive

Being self-moved

Peripatetic Ouroboros

Eating us and our

Actions, forever

In imitation

I am your

“Good monster”

A tragic being

Feel some

Pity and fear

On my behalf

For these little

Ignorant accounts

Were made

Raging against

An ugly trajectory

Muses, I invoke thee!

Take these humble

Offerings as tribute

Recognizing each

Day of breath

Sequence matters not

For my arche was

Predetermined

Ages after

Atropos deigns

To snip my own

Thinspun thread

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Inspired by an excellent aesthetics lecture on Aristotle’s Poetics last Thursday! Philosophy is good for the poet’s soul.