David Wright
Plague of ladybugs, plague of the suburbs

Gathered in my beard, on your skin,
       in the mouths of bottles.

                               Drink down
their speckled bodies--Mexican beetle,
Asian beetle, domestic bodies--no one
       will say.
                               On my sweater,
       this one, a jewel in a vestment,
       rises away.

The several on my hands
                               I'm flinging

like orange paint from a brush--
                               these winged
               red oils, striated, enameled.

The ends of my fingers a brush--

                       Pollock with ladybugs,
                       Pollock with a canvas of sky.


David Wright's most recent collection of poems is A Liturgy for Stones (Cascadia, 2003). His work appears in The Nimble Spirit Review, Artful Dodge, and Poetry East. He is a past recipient of an Illinois Arts Council Fellowship for poetry. He stays home with his children in Central Illinois, where his wife practices pediatrics.
Website: http://www.dwpoet.com
More information on David Wright's new book
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