White fleas as well: well-fled.
The firefly, too, who scaled our flue...?
Callay! Callooh! Laid tread!
More flies -- a flock (not fake, not mock) --
who flaying forme'ly fear'd,
now face a fit from veils of FLIT.
Pale insect flight's (like) weird.
Each milky moth seems "at a loth."
Chalk crickets chirp, "We're skeer'd!"
Bleach'd ladybirds...? I lack the words.
In short, all've disappear'd.
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| "The Home Alone Ranger" Ulysses Poe graphite pencil on copy paper digitally modified 5" by 7" |
