Worthless Crap from Aug. 06

7/20/06

An aqua-blue-green luna moth with white spots on its wings landed on a shower tile before I could drop my quarters into the shower timer, so I hesitated before stepping into the shower stall until the luna moth could leave, the rear of its wings with lobes as huge as fins for aerodynamic guidance, for flying higher than the other moths battering the screens to circle the lamplight or bumping againt the window panes so loudly one is lead to expect larger moths to appear, each wing broader than a single hand-span carrying a body capable of breaking the window glass. Moths who rival monarch butterflies in their replendence, too large for their wings to be inhaled, large enough to suffocate. The singed wings must smell of calico fabric and unused scatter rugs, nestling among old clothes and their secrets.

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In the rummage sales everyone rids themselves of their old globes, the paper segments depicting quadrants unpeeled from the pasteboard and steel surface, the names of republics dated, the countries smaller and smaller, some of the borders dotted lines, failed states not written off the map yet. The story hasn’t ended, and the globes with their wooden degree rules can be spun idly in the carports or upon folding tables. It’s quaint to have a map of the world as it was, the end of history as we know it.

*****

8/5/06

A lady-bug who fell on the laptop near a green LED unfolded sword-like wings, diaphanous as window-screens or steely as pins or jack-knives, from beneath its innocuous and charming shell, black dots against an orange-red, that splits apart once the lady-bug flies, in Britain lady-bird not lady-bug. They love the attics they infest, but don’t bore through rafters with the persistence of termites.