Annoying high-pitched hum skating past my ear. I swat at nothing but air in attempts to clear this pest from the earth. Seldom have I ever successfully killed it. Long legs like invisible threads. Backyard patio, front porch screened in but somehow they still get in. I don’t like bugs, but will usually give spiders a second chance at life in my own courthouse of pest justice. They at least eat the bugs and help clear them away. Strange ecosystem. Downcast eyes, averted gaze. Hips tightened by years of stress. “Angelina, you’re like a mosquito in my ear!” Something good and pure about a Jersey Shore marathon, back when getting drunk was the answer to everything. Life experience lends itself to perspective which changes our choices as time goes on and our souls remain timeless, but bodies grow older in this ever-changing landscape of this thing called Life. Strange ecosystem. Cracked knuckles on a sidewalk, Hulk-like strength lifting cars and throwing them out of the way so the kid trapped underneath can escape. Buzzing, humming, calling card of bugs and telephones. Rabbit ears always listening. Blue crane robot. Man-made lake a spill over. Bug spray and citronella candles. The mosquitos usually don’t like the taste of my blood. Only when they’re deprived and really hungry do they go for me. I did have a few bites this summer. On my wrist and arms. They took awhile to fade, but they’ve faded. Body consciousness, healing itself. I give zoologists a lot of credit because I could never do that job. Wings flapping so fast they look like they’re hovering. Terrifying villains of everyday life. Wanting everything to be a certain way and it’s not. Part of a gang, part of a lifestyle, parting ways, parting hands. “Open arms reject assuming hands”. Taking Back Sunday in 2005(7?). What a time to be alive. Raw energy, contagious and rousing, pouring out of car speakers.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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