Dear Human

Hissing and sizzling beetles in summer trees now,
Squeaking song of crickets and river frogs,
And mosquitoes filling up the spaces in my sinuses,
All singing, ringing in the sinews in my head;

Butter-filled flying ants yearning for 
That point to get to,
Bats swooping down and through them,
Feasting on their hopeless fat;

All yelling at me to remember I am in a body,
And to forget the rush of getting things to be done,
As though I were aiming for that same point.
To remember I am here to play.

There can’t be a point if I can’t have fun.
The last of the friends have been harvested and
My heart can not be broken any further,
Suffering this I, dear sweet human.