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"A Sublunary Strip " by Robinson Terry

The flies congregate in

The corner of the sunroom

Around the amber strip of

Collective death.

As they circle the deathly

Stripe that is covered with the corpses of

Their fallen comrades,

I wonder what draws them


Is it an overpowering seductive scent,

A reminder of a taste they could

Never forget.

Is it a lack of sight added to exploration,

A slice of the airfield that their

Eyes can’t perceive,

Until they charge with

All their might,

And realize in stillness the wholesale

Futility of their efforts.

Or is it

The looming presence of the dead? Maybe

These flies know

Exactly where all the other flies

Went, and they’re simply eager

To get there too.

Robinson Terry is an upcoming graduate from SUNY Cortland, and a soon-to-be English teacher. He loves writing poems that operate on multiple levels, though this often results in him getting too in his head. He has a serious affinity for observation, which occasionally leaves him staring at the sky while he should be crossing the street. He’s previously been published in Better Than Starbucks, Nine Muses Poetry, and Flash Fiction Press.

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