Bug-zapper, and: Metronome

Bug-zapper

Come, flame-moth. Come, feathered thornwing,Darkling beetle and Asian lady, and come,

O night-wasp. Swift through the soft air flyTo where I hang allurement.

I am caged moon! I am firefly phosphorescenceSlow-gracing to the rooftree! I am anything

But this low-watt hum, this dim fluorescent shamSlung rusting from the rain gutter,

Cord rubbed raw to the next rain'sSputter, short-out, and dark. When you arc

From the ether to my electrical field,I am ethereal, something worth

Steering for. And if, when you reach me,You should vaporize, —well,

That's what we celestials do: we firework;We meteor in streaks, lit up

Like a house afire, like bad wiringOn rotten wood. My brief lovelies,

Let us spark while we can.I feel a hard rain coming on.

Metronome

I'm done with this buck and wing, the shuck and jiveOf marking time for you. A spring sprung,

A gear-catch at each left-hand lurch, and zing!—I've a hitch in my get-a-long. I lopside

Like a kite ride, struggle upright from the downswing,My hammer-hand dragging in the end-zone:

I am become an undependulum.Isn't this bliss, this shift from Old Reliable

To Whiplash Skip in a quicker-than-a-tick?Isn't this what I've longed for?: no more steady you,

Steady your tune, bury my backbeat in the background.Let the town talk about my late stroke, scold

That I put the sin in syncopate. I'll takeMy limp any time over your well-tempoed

Clever in the key of never again. And whenI'm left to hap my own hazard, useless in my slap

And dash, trash as trash-talk, I'll hangMy long left and shrug At least I'm loud.