A Rare Flower

to M.

Asleep on the soft petals of a beautiful flower
I am awakened by the buzzing of others
“What is this flower? What do you call it?” They ask.
“A flower of unmatched beauty and nourishment” Obviously

And they, confused bees
hopping flower to flower, ask:
“but is it yours?, is it your flower?”

Perplex by these odd questions,
annoyed at such a rude awakening,
I answer curtly
“This flower is no more mine
then the sun is yours” Go away.

“But, but, what do you call it?” their voices shake.

“As you call the sun what it is,
this rare flower is.
as the sun welcomes you,
this flower welcomes me.
as you do not choose the sun
I choose no other flower.
For who are we, us little bees
to pick and choose
that which gives us life?”

Raccoons in his Eyes

Raccoons in his eyes
Squirrels in his heart and
Bees in his blood
And folds of skin
like warm wax

He opens his mouth to laugh
The squirrels pierce the ears.

Another drink, and another.

“How long have you been…”
Raccoons dance
and dart,
rolling folds find their proper pose

Another joke, more squirrels, another drink

And the bees begin to infect my blood
And the skin on my face disconnects from my soul

I need to get out of here.