Pitfalls

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 Pitfalls

“Good things do not come easily, for the road is

lined with pitfalls.”--Desi Arnaz.

I am a demon and a god.

I compress all the joys of this world

into a thousand days.

I am a digger and a devourer.

I spend 98% of my life as a larva,

and a few days as an adult; go figure.

I am an antlion.

For most of my three year life span

I relish being a ravenous monster.

I have a rough rippled protective shell,

like a nightmare mini-armadillo.

I have huge jaws like a spider.

I savor a delicious vampire state.

I dig a pit in the sand,

3 inches across, and 3 inches deep.

and I squat like a patient ghoul

at the bottom of it.

I can go without food for days

while awaiting my prey.

I am very in tune with vibrations,

and I sense when a victim is near.

It’s mostly ants who stumble into my pit,

and they tumble down

toward my quivering mandibles.

Some of them struggle,

but my sand engineering defeats them,

and the sides cave in.

When in my grasp,

I inject venom to paralyze them.

I inject enzymes that turn flesh to liquid,

so that I can suck the entire essence 

out of my captives, leaving only

an empty dry shell, which I discard.

I must admit I fully endorse

the malicious rush of being

a powerful predator.

I have no enemies.

I reign supreme.

After many satisfying years

as an actual demon,

I realize I’ve had my fill.

So I spin a marvelous cocoon,

and partake of a beautiful slumber,

dreaming of my hundreds of kills,

the thrill of gluttony, and the fervent

pleasures of a former succubus.

When I awake, I am peeling back

my wrappings, as I emerge

as a golden antgod,

with a long muscular thorax,

and four gorgeous gossamer wings.

I experience the thrill of flight

and the rush of rutting hormones,

one atop the other

Suddenly I am keenly aware of two things.

I have a month to live,

and I am as horny 

as a three-peckered goat.

To my surprise, as I flit off on my 

lotharian quest, I find ladies everywhere.

I find myself to be sexually insatiable,

procreating like a pulsating pile driver.

Just call me Larry Lust,

and hide all your daughters.

On the 25th day, I am completely exhausted,

and I spiral to the ground like a loose leaf,

or a wounded helicopter, and

there I lie in a grateful heap,

fully ready to let my inexorable spirit

morph into fairy dust.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub