It's hot and I'm awake, harassed, and lashing
Together weapons with my socks. While chiefly
Undressed and sweating from it, I am smashing
Mosquitos, unconcerned about their briefly
Uncompromising multi-lensed perspective.
The force of their Cretaceous bug design
Is wasted -- death by sock is quite effective
Against these robots. Oh companion mine,
Your buzz would be a miracle on Mars
Where barren epochs sand the tables clean
Of features, stripping paint and life and star
-stuff from the alien wood. I do not mean
To contradict you, little insect, but
My blood's my birthright -- you can't have it yet.
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