noseeums ovenbird Tiny demons named for an absence, they find some near invisible hole in my screen and pour into my bedroom as dusk settles. They could be mistaken for dust motes, if a dust mote were a blood thirsty incubus. Their mouths contain blades that slice skin with practiced finesse, letting blood pool, which they lap up like hellhounds, leaving saliva in my wounds, so I am now covered in small itchy welts. It’s amazing how many nights in a row you can be consumed, yet rise, Promethean, to another day in which you will be the feast for some small, importunate life. 250527 what's it to you? who go blather from