scourge of 13 mosquitos

dusk came with the fever…

passive-aggressive ellipses,

a black bang on the page

of extension

with unwavering certitude,

off they swarmed;

in flew skepticism

making a double point

coating the surface:

salivation,

viva acclimation,

excited and inquisitive

without ending the sentence,

a comma splice

after exclamation or do you have a question?

the thirteen flew on!

why do you believe elephants are smaller than mosquitos? 

do they need to fly backward, 

for such fallacies are rhetorical?

complicated as the em dash–

if given a key on your keyboard you know you would use them.

the glyph, like a little midge,

warns of the irony,

barely avoiding the swat.

the segmented mosquat, musketa,

the skeeter, has one pair of wings,

one pair of halteres, three pairs of hairy legs,

and elongated mouthparts.

the cross was dotted

with unwavering conviction,

bring in the expert without hesitation. 

in walks a parasol-ed entomologist.

he exclaimed with such snark,

‘the period should be followed by a tilde’

and all that was left were three~

flying in formation like little stars in a pyramid

declaring, ‘give me a break’.

‘you won't miss a little blood...

we only leave a little love point’,

they laughed. @ it all, pointing it out with a sarcmark.

the scourge of 13 ended in a splat.

with all the fear forget getting off on that floor,

forget triskaidekaphobia, 

pounding it out with a hashtag, a real #interrobang of slight

while the males are off sucking on nectar;

how could it be that only females bite?! don’t call the censor.