Bot Flies

we sit around
melatonin dreams
wondering where life will lead

pouring the fluidity of hope
into vessels of cynicism
careful to not run over the brim

through the days we collide
with disproportionate thoughts
waging battles with our warm cots

tossing ourselves into the next day
shooing bot flies from the hay
molding a new existence from this new clay

this is the welcoming of a new existence
warm or cold reception
fanfare optional to the new guests

what one person sees as hope
another sees as a mess
sleeping in the eyes of the fly