monday 11:18

a swollen, grey tick
stepping off a leaf
onto red and black flannel
a farmer's shoulder
a forest fire

there is a plastic bag on the desk beside me
it was brought into this earth
like a robot's birth
yielding only placenta

theres a bumble bee inside of me
i feel him moving around and mutating
somersaulting transformations

the gymnast is aging throughout her routine

mosquitoes turn into vampires
like tadpoles into frogs

and i still sit and contemplate
if there is a fundamentally different
conscious experience
between the tadpole
and the frog
or this plastic bag
and the author of all this