Lonely Cricket Poem by Phil de Lange

In the darkest hollow where
echo giants live,
a Lonely Cricket screams cowardly
in cold boots

Lonely Cricket gasps, hidden
in a musky capsule away from
eager steps

Lonely Cricket falls mute from
the trivial flirt of a monstrous tread
In that cave, Lonely Cricket cries –
spewing shards of gossip to cut
insomniac puppets

“O Lonely Cricket what bulbous grapes you have”
“dimmed reflections of your desolation”

May blind feet find you hermit –
a crusty delight of incarnate shell
Creak not your raspy venom
Lonely Cricket…
“For I too can spit”