Extended Elegy Upon A Dead Moth, 2 

I didn't sniff or snuffle, 
beat my teeth or gnash my chest
for moths who've popped their mothclogs, 
nor did dead moths mutely decry 
my piddly bathcrimes 
w/ humble crumpled midget indecency.
Dead moths don't mind their misappropriation 
as my degeneracy's decorations, 
the desiccated leafweights their deaths left, 
the postmortem pestpetal husks,
dead mothmentoes of a nightbath moment of no note,
dead moth mote in mine eye. 
You know your social life is lifeless 
when you're the diarist of dead bugs.

Shayackaboosux! My bod's been banjaxed 
by hottosnot biostrife 
of bloodstreambodsleighing bugs, 
but I do not NOT mourn dead
moths because of the headcold component, 
nor do I resist Daitchlawrencian 
serpenticide of expiation.
'Sjust the slatteriness of a scuzzy lusk
letting fled moths lie. Tho' they'll fly
should I sneeze. No thanatousia 
for thimblewit Heterocera, 
I won't be sent to rot 
for watching them rot, but if I think of it, 
I reek of it. I feel l/ such
driedup dreggy insignificant insect expirations,
even in this bath of emollient 
poached North Norfolk soap.
Otherwise, would I not weep or at least flickaway
the trinket corpses? 

A superior sendoff'd be rendered
if you little guys had been
windscreenwiperwiped 
across the windscreen of a louche Porsche
belonging to Hunter Hobby,
a moviestar who only this moment 
is sashaying thru the lobby
to be startled at his windscreen striped w/ smears,
mottledleopard liquid mess of Hollywood moths
w/ a crush on Death that glamourpus.

Meanwhile outside the Grateful Dead Mothtel
very near me in Norwich, there's flybynight 
flies & grim crickets that don't languidly trill 
'cheerup cheerup'.
Scarlet ladybirds - do their blackheaded shells,
signify insect adolescence? Could I be
a  bishybarnaBeatle for such bishybarnabeaver,
finally Lice the Pinup, 6-bicepped?

Tonight, cockroaches wander violent & free
as hickwater Americops or their hitchhiker sociopot 
tosspath prey on a midsummernight's reality TV.
A cockroach can be off its head for up to 4 weeks
& still not be legless - my hero!
Tho' cockroaches are overrated, 
not so indestructible when confronted 
by beadyeyed backing band of the aubade.
Or could I literally (which often connotes 'grisly')
'bodypop' a cockroach w/ predatory finkie-pinger,
no bigger than a roached cock floating
between prunes of procreation?

Or cockroach could be crushed
between the pages of the most boring book
I own, its acne sap insect viscera, puncture
that is the picture whose value plays snap
w/ 1000 words in the hackanory
journal for jackasses,
periodical for pillocks I'd choose.
It wouldn't be the helpful shells section of the 
Colour Library Book Of The Natural World, 
but a tome to offend us Touchwoodists
w/ its indulgent arboreal butchery
in aid of something so illadvised, 
so illindeliblised
upon the dearly explanted. 
Maybe the memoirs of an
unmarried morrisdancing marrowgrower,
ghostwritten by a former footballer.
Particularly Chapter 5,
in which his 3rdplaceranking 
marrow itself is interviewed.