I Asked You Not To

Skittle Skittle Tap Tap...

Seashells against the baseboard.
Soles against the wooden flats.
Hand on water.

Always, first,
I rest the tips of fingers
On the surface of the water,
Asleep.
Aware.
Awake.
Scensory.

Remember Brown.
Remember Red.

A Roach.
A Beetle...
Turned Bleu and shining Black
From Brown.

Pincers.
Skittle Skittle Tap Tap.
Round and round in concentric~non~concentricness.

Across the seashells
And, I jump back.

Glare.
Confused for a moment.

But, this is my house.
This is not the glass and wooden case.

Where I am on display.
Center.
Bottom.

Pinned there among the other Butterflies.
In a house,
With a chicken,
And a guitar...

By a Roach.
By a Beetle.
Turned Bleu and shining Black.

Captured one of his own,
But didn't let it live.

Showing it, collected...
In ink and ionic slide.

And, Me...
Seashells and soles.

Sensory...
Turning Shades of Shades of Shades of Shades.

This is my house.

No more Skittle Skittle Tap Tap.