when you have stretched nets across the span of bridges
and captured the ships coming into the lake it might
be the correct time for me to show you the place i have hidden
down beneath the museum where the collections are kept

buried beneath butterflies and beetles and gnats on pins and needles
you can find them and sometimes i open their little boxes and let them
crawl about on the floor and dance and talk and fight
and trace crop circles into the dust

each new leg i grow is painful
the first few i cut off and put in boxes and
hid the boxes but they are coming back now and now
i have succumbed to the inevitability of transformation
just as those butterflies did before they knew
the swish of the net and the confines of glass
kill all humans