LIGHTBULB.

Lightbulb; the moths flutter
and beat themselves to death against an idea.
A thought, vivid like glass, bright like tungsten-
glows.

I am reaching out to my mind again,
my wings burned and burdened...Wait.
I have lost track of my metaphors again...
But then again, like the moths,

I have lost track of many things-
except for the unknown light in front of me.