Monday, June 7 - 1999

Tom Miller's
POEM OF THE WEEK

---

flies collect around our love

 

 

when love ends

the smell attracts flies

 

who buzz around

looking for food

 

and these flies

don't think much

 

because their brains

are very tiny

 

you have probably met

some of these flies in your life

 

when your love has died

for one or another

 

and in that sadness

the flies come

 

and feed on the decay you feel

and the death left behind

 

they feed

 

but flies only live

a few days

 

somewhere between

feeding on the death

you leave behind

and their own death

 

flies try to fuck

 

so that more flies will arrive

to feed on the death of love

everywhere it happens

 

and for those flies

who don't fuck

only feed and die

 

there is nothing

 

and for those flies

who fuck

don't feed and die

 

there is nothing

 

only the fly

who feeds and fucks

 

can truly say

his life had meaning

 

and that

is what i'm saying