These bees/flit and flight/do what they do/make life go on/while I sit on this bench considering the poetic possibilities/of nausea and what follows/vomit rhymes with comet you know/my attention keeps/unsurprisingly slipping/too soon/the flowers and the bees’ buzz and the bench and the pretty day/Sing me a lost lullaby/where toxins don’t need expelling/and the border of death and life recede/except it won’t/and the body writhing sweating expelling/shudders and suffers to life/it is its desperate insistence on living/that makes us sick/unlovely yet Noble I think/perhaps more so/at least equal/in my eyes/to bees/and flowers/this will to life
Revrosee's Blog 