These frenzied flies find a jazz
in eyes that magic a summer nest.
The body within this mushroom field –
decapitated, temple of headless myth.
The rook priesthood gather and caw
with a sort of happiness. A robin flies
in from Christmas, worm-hungry,
hedonist for flesh. But so many
lice…so many ants… and the beetles
scurrying like a biblical plague.
Above them all a calligraphy of flies –
they loop, they cloud, they buzz.
Phil Wood was born in Wales. He has worked in Education, Shipping, and a biscuit factory. His writing can be found in various publications, including DM du Jour, Streetcake Magazine, Califragile, and Three Drops From A Cauldron.