The Fly by William Blake

The Fly falls on my arm
to walk around
and stroll

and lick frollick
and cajole

and I
am I too not some sort
of fly on the wall
of society

do I not come and sit
and eat and breathe

do I not have bug eyes
do I not have bristled hairs

do I not have insect
arms and legs

do I not have pierces
coming out of my mouths
and circular shooting
tongue sucking

do I not buzz with wings

do I not stomp with feet
and walk and stalk
and crawl and creep

am I not the Fly
the fly