sometimes words buzz all through me
like bees making honey in the hive
sweet and thick and golden overflowing my eyes
running out of my fingertips onto the keys
sometimes i am a hollowed honeycombed husk
bands of grey paper coming apart in a high wind
egg sacks that didn’t hatch
mummified dried in hexagonal pens
on those restless rustling days
head heavy with emptiness
i make myself an apiary
and search for swarms
No comments:
Post a Comment