phorid identity crisis

 

if i were a coffin fly

i’d rather be called a scuttle fly

it sounds more like i have boundless energy

 

(by neal evenhuis)

 

habits of phorid flies

 

emerging from buried corpses six feet under, or heads of decapitated ants

from specimens kept in formalin, termite mounds, shoe polish and emulsion paint

the world is their oyster, preferably a dead one