The Moth Poem by Stephen Brian Brady

he laid aside the monthly Moth Gazette
he knew he'd rolled his final cigarette

too set in his ways
to deny his only vice
he stretched his wings
slightly frayed and singed

for one last flight
to an old flame
'twould be just a spurt of fire in the night
as she sucked him in

he'd feel no pain
a correspondent had surmised
another from a butterfly
took a different slant on things

but the god of moths
there where a single light-bulb hangs in space
had called him in

so he shrugged
and spiralled out
kicked his heels
and then inhaled
a final puff of sin