A mosquito sitting on a swing
bleeds boredom from his upper half and blood fumes from his lower
blood fumes that are almost fire
dangling nonchalantly from the lax geometry

A mosquito with a head full of quiet dust
trying to restrain any hint of social buzzing
trying to seem asleep. Because immunity
takes a long nap in the powerless age and then leaps up and combs its

chest like a slow precipitation of car-exhaust
into the face of passionate pink and red quick knots
which were never meant to prevent the whole flow of blood through the organism,
even if it’s bottom half is a blood-theft.