He is Hank to anyone who knows.
When he drinks it is just enough
to release something bright, alive (his soul?),
or stifle something dark, putrid (his soul?).
Hank wears a shell – like a June bug.
Shining blue, purple, red, green,
reflecting light from a hard edged rainbow;
up close, grotesque, spiny, monstrous.
Trapped in a cold water room
thump-thumping into window glass
-buzzing, clicking, lethargic, ominous.
Finally, someone opens the window.
Releases him to hum at the porch light
until the window closes and he returns
to the comfort of rhythm, glass and
the room he cannot reach.