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Thoughts like moths
flit above your head
u capture the pretty ones
& ignore the dull ones
then stick ‘em in a cage, & display ‘em
hoping passers-by
(with moths of their own)
will notice the pretty ones
& ignore the dull ones
Moths like refugee camps
with wire fence walls
packed with people like thoughts like sausage
If the population gets too concentrated
and the situation gets ugly
and you, as moth master,
must use sweep nets and spray bug aerosol
to assert and maintain control.
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I like this idea -- the writing about writing (even about the precise situation of writing on Edit Red?), and would like to talk about the analogy. The concept of dull thoughts, that in a sense they are worthless, or rather that they are wrongly interpreted as worthless, is a very interesting one. Can poems be sweep nets and deadly aerosol?
