There's a white shelled transvestite ladybug crawling across the word "Underwear" on a Craigslist browsing computer screen in the public library.
Then it flew away into a bee's nest in the attic. Here is your epitaph: nettle tincture honey is a sweat curse and friendly lies are a pained dessert. Pretend that bee sting poison is an opium syringe, ladybug.
But the scarlet letter was her bloody joke when a gay social assassin posed as rogue busy bee named Ahab, crouched about to shatter a burgundy shelled secret like a harpoon through a stained glass window.
Across the library St. Asmodeus felt a chilled dagger through his lead filled heart when passing kids threw an iced snowball through the church's window. The summer before, a night creeping praying mantis had broken in and died. Now the glass fell with wet snow and crushed the dead mantis who had stood erect with patient lifelessness until then.
Then the raw moon beams shone down to melt the unnatural metal into a wood encased pool on the wormwood LaVeyan alter which smoldered the incense of itself into low hanging blooms of toxic smoke until dust drifted into the cornered webs of dead spiders.
Deep under the cult's frosty maple floorboards an earthworm, buzzed off dirt cheap spirits, woke and floated to the crust of the earth but arrived too late for sexual nirvana like a hermaphrodite dick coming late to an evolutionary party.
Submerged below the now frozen dead worm carcass is a trilobite cemetery. When nature forgets the living those memories fade from bone into stone junkyards which are rock candy for worms.