Untitled #1

  The fly in our living room

  stays on the window

  facing west,

  watching a series of afternoons

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  turn to night.

  Its false-start ignition buzzing

  is louder than conversation,

  sharper than our strain of thought,

  stronger than the sound of traffic outside.

  The fly crawls upward,

  always toward the sky,

  away from the open pane

  below.

  - Kat Isacson

  What good is a collection of poetry if it doesn't have a nihilistic fly poem in it, right?

  +k