Mossie fest killing

And upon leaning to scrape the waste
to that watery place where your young
thrive, in bubbling wiggle-dance
the outhouse chaste for years, engaged

I notice the buzzless graceful arcs
of gnat-flies, rim-perched, now
randomly advancing, some sucking
on my insides. This implied disregard

fills like shit fills the mossie bowl
the hatred joy implores, "Destroy!"

Unhappy clapping for hours
as ignored, shit crusts to hair.