It’s hard to tell if they’re playing tag,
or thrusting nectar-drunk love at each other—
mid-June attempts at getting it.
Maybe they’re fighting over first flowers—
legs twitching in hypoglycemic half-paralysis,
like the buzz of waking mid-vacation,
still dazed, muscles aching, but that stinger,
coiled stiff for the week.
Their terror-tails would end me,
or at least suspend me, breath held between
here and wherever histamine takes it.
I appreciate the bees, I really do,
their work, their faith in growing things.
But the anaphylactic risk of their existence
in relation to mine turns close proximity
into a kill-or-die situation:
all stabs and fury, and neither of us
wanting it to end that way.
Categories:
hypoglycemic, anxiety, june, planet,
Form: Free verse
Like magic,
It tingles from my lips to my toes. My eyes closed.
Music sells me tickets to my happy-place,
and I forget the bad the sad the tragic,
Going further and circling to terra firma my conscious defects
The physical.
As,
The beat hits home like a million Hiroshima’s,
The boom makes my head nod as we wave my worries good-bye.
With closed eyes, we observe,
DNA of dreams and colour,
Fading and reappearing on the inside of the eye,
As golden, on-a-warm-summers-day rhymes,
Equate sounds with colours,
And our heels make holes in the ground.
To the tunes of our content,
Our fingers twitch, and shoulders shudder,
Human reduced to bobble-head,
As we're reunited with our past,
I can see my life when I crunched candy last.
It stops and I collapse,
It is sugar for my blood,
Hypoglycemic with my face in the mud,
I have nothing to say.
Categories:
hypoglycemic, music,
Form: Bio