The magic of reality lies contained in the carapace
of a Mediterranean cockroach scuttling in the shadows of Big Ben.

Hesitating before entering the circle of light cast
by the guttering candle, its antennae taste the atmosphere.

All the starry universe contained within, wavering,
while the khaki men with guns follow orders from anyone
with a soupcon of authority, and extra ribbons.

Casting no shadow, encapsulated and severed from the human experience,
legs stepping asynchronously as it wanders the ring of fading light,
that rapidly depleting palette, embracing with zest this array of possible oblivions.

-Bernie DeVille