cicada
summer in the sunny south
it is a wooded tinnitus
and cast eyes down
or grey
how do they see?
Black
Prince
with tymbals
as to masque
or tournament
thinking’s all apocalyptic
you bucket it out like a miser
to float through the garden
like a veil of wing flung
just these few weeks
to joust and mate
so armoured for the fray
because a stutter flown
stim music
strafe the ear
and perched
and cling
grim for
must feed on sap
as royals do
all chorus
(that’s to say, refrain)
song of the Magicicada cassini
head banging?
no, techno
and this one who was never king
but good for burning, ravaging
on all flanks and utterly
so here’s much booty brought
in the Jurassic were mega-cicadas
shall we feed the birds this challenge of flight?
in a certain stillness struck
can you hear the alien whirr of we’re here
lion gorged with three parts argent
we serve the nymphs deep fried
this must be the seventh year