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Poem by Ishmael

Getting ready to fish,

Entering a store to buy beer...

Male Polyphemus moths hang from awning rafters, and

Females will spread pheromones to attract them at night,

Like unto the sirens from the rocks,

For one last fatal embrace...

They have no way to feed,

Vestigial mouth parts bring no sustenance,

They breed, lay eggs, and starve to death...

Think about Odysseus,

Poking Polyphemus in the eye...

If he had kept his mouth shut,

He would have been fine,

Got karma instead...

Monarch butterflies arriving,

Laying eggs on milkweed,

Taking three or four generations to get here...

They eat like pigs as egg, caterpillar, chrysalis, adult,

Then fly to Mexico to winter,

Migrate north in spring and start again,

With no map, only knowing...

Odysseus took ten years to journey,

But he was just a man.

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