Flea

I, only a micro, but the pest of rat

We Platt strands of mortal fur with infection and saliva of rattle snake

A neighbour to rush of wine, red, blood

A needle pierced through vain, we descendant of vampire

My eyes edged with hell’s fires

The tap of my body, the blur of music

We cut line of patience and return it with stung visioned cause of deathly offspring

I, the weaver of fear, en-crowded shadows, dancing before the eyes of a mortal experiencing death dream

We future tick, the scab you intend to pick

The underworld fly, the singe of tower tall flame

The omen of disease, a night plague

A taste bud nestling on Hades tongue

A parasite enrooting the tentacle of Kracken