The cicadas are shrilling. They are casting
a great yellow net of noise
around the town
treetop to treetop
and pinned down
to earth
to crisp, hooked little stems
--each wing shriek and scream
intwisted to the web--
We giants roll and lumber
thick fish, our thoughts and chats
caught in the strings
our world of meat and bones
enclosed in yellow scream
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I. Love. This.
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