dying is not enough: we never wondered who built the mobile, only that it spun enough to distort the ceiling

I dismantled my white noise machine wondering what made the lullabye

inside I found hordes of insects killing sucking fucking birthing

the sound of insect orgasm and death

the miracle of insects joining the fruitless orgy

helped us sleep

I guess we aren’t much different than them

inside a tiny box of ceaseless noise