Lepidoptera. by Robin Ray

Light-saturated gypsy moths     at it tonight,
flapping       twisting       amelodic preludes to
a dream   shifting from stucco to concrete, the
many reasons husbands come home late. What
is luck        but a desperate gut           yet to
spill. The throats of moths hum tunes harsher
than their wings. It’s okay to slide into
awareness. Lamps glow steadily
followers of war bending truth
to satisfaction. I’ve soaked my cuticles for
prayers   no kudos from the white witch. Can’t
tire of crepuscular oddities navigating my
monitor. I comprehend sleepless eyes,
my winged friend.

Robin Ray is the author of Wetland and Other Stories (All Things That Matter Press, 2013), Obey the Darkness: Horror Stories, the novels Murder in Rock & Roll Heaven and Commoner the Vagabond, and one book of non-fiction, You Can’t Sleep Here: A Clown’s Guide to Surviving Homelessness. His works have appeared, or are appearing, in Red Fez, Scarlet Leaf Review, Neologism Poetry Journal, Spark, Aphelion, Bewildering Stories, Picaroon Poetry, The Bangalore Review, The Magnolia Review, Vita Brevis, and elsewhere.

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