Otiato GuguyuUnder the red mound
built in spittle of gang workers without pension
The last surviving termite mound stood on my door,
The colony almost collapsing, from the poison I poured into the subterranean empire, like a farmer
We will make it for the sky, and as far from here
The Daedalus termite said to the princes and princesses, excited about the dance of their lives.
Fattened in the alcove of imagined reality, and shielded from the reality of the poverty outside.
As the rain stomps the earth into a beat of the sound of dance
The mound opens up and Prince Icarius goes up and up
His proud mantle shinning into the rays of the sun and his oilly fillament wings propelling like an Apache too close to the sun.
Up up up the dance of the princes of filament soars.
and then they start to get eaten by the hungry people
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