The bug lays in a light,
it's wings show hues that do not compare
to the pinks in my fleshy tones.
But we are plundering in echoes
of layered gravity.
Weighted by a beat that moves us.
Flailing, our eyes flutter
above our heads
in a jar made of glass.
Placed
without knowing the things we cannot hear.
Obscured images,
making things unclear.