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

Some travel/though it only becomes a sacred journey/when we realize/we will all be changed/the traveling with divinity/Never cycles in our control/we will/all will change/below us/around us/inside us/this sickness is and always was unto death/and into the bowels of life/we exhaust these living/down to the husks/put on the foam slippers/and walk and ride/ of the companions I don’t get to choose/I choose God/over/and over/every breath/every single step/I commit my spirit/into hands that hold/and which death/may never part

I have seen this flower on many continents/ child of the tropics/bloom/bloom in all your beauty/child of the tropics/love/love with all your heat/child of the tropics/shine/shine with every understanding/live/though rain must fall