~ The Dead Wasp ~

Dried, withered, desiccated, dead,

Husk of a busy life of flight.

With hollow eyes

And black wings bent back,

There is a dead wasp stuck

In the screen.

Forever trapped between

The inside and outside,

Like me.

There is a dead wasp stuck

In the screen

Of the frame of my heartache.

Caught in the present,

Where "used to be's" don't fly,

Anymore.

He's dead, but he still

Keeps stinging me.

And I have to wonder,

If it was the sun that killed him?

~ C.L.R. ~ © 2007