Full recording of 'proboscis' and other bunfly sounds available at 

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Bunfly/280018121939

Soft crumpled wings of 

Little chamois leather 

Crash the light

Storming brave the shifts of wind
under the weather where you live
under the thunder
where you breathe a little quieter
than us
but get caught tasting laced corsets
tiny chews you nibble at a banquet
blanket, muffled and dazed 
the silk hazes fly out from under your
secret places
and lights you up into the sky 
where you set sail those heavy beats
and heavy hearted find the nearest sun
to linger on…
whilst light years away the ground carpets a 
mossland of green dreaming planets
through which millipedes tick
away the day
a million little legs trickling a beat
in the dark, cool, 
stoned 
protected with minerals 
the wriggle in the earth 
keeping tempo with tiny toes
too subtle for the birds to know
yet drummin up the rhythm of the rains.
Until the clouds burst
And open the swell
A million petty pitter
Patters call the water to sing
From the sky
To quench the thirst 
To clean the dust
off dirty skins and little ladybird’s rusty wings.
She A Scarlet Velveteer,
She tickles dry and flickers 
To come bring black spots 
Upon her back written in moonless inks
And counted from the day
She sets out her way to find us,
and gives her life
To finds us joyless 
Searches our souls for stains 
and across these skyilt plains
she flies her red flags smiling against
the dangers and makes the sacrifice
with laughter in her eyes,
Departing these spotted joys
For us to count with innocence
Unless mistake them for our lies 
Lose ourselves forever as each spot fades and dies.
And so we lay us down in fields
In bumblebee blunders
He rounds mumbling
And makes patterns of our breath
Buzzes through thick, honeyed sunlight
And dances 
In the swathes of our sighs.
Fuzzy comforting a drone against
The city slick speed of time,
Bees
Bumble in the secrets
Of a lazy day
We kick back, chew straw
And watch the whirling circles 
Of the bee, spun drunk with love, 
From making hay

And drinking mead. 

 In insect life, 

a tiny slice 
we share the 
passing time of days
given to years of theirs
we crawl, fly, fight and linger

in passing worlds, caught hazy in this maze.