Honeysuckle Calls to Me from the Butchered Side of a Mountain
In my heart I know that it is a blight,
a poison to the young oaks
and rose bushes and grasses
and cliffsides along the highways,
a sweet-voiced crooner
with its hand on their throat,
but I am merely an elephant hawk moth,
selfish in where I feast, brown-pink swirls
of wings fluttering to the melody,
eyes for sugar and sugar alone,
whatever else passes for life
be absolutely goddamned.
7 thoughts on "Honeysuckle Calls to Me from the Butchered Side of a Mountain"
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Wonderful, Sean.
The elephant hawk moth caught me completely off guard, but fascinating to step into its mind and it’s cares or don’t cares. I enjoyed this a lot.
A poem in the voice of an elephant hawk moth. This magic.
It’s growing, life. One man’s poison….
Great.
Honeysuckle as “a sweet-voiced crooner” is right.
Well, somebody has a heart for honeysuckle . . . Nice poem!!
I love the surprise POV in the turn, a gift that gives to the last line.