Sometimes the bee stings
aren’t in a place we require to find where the poison comes from.
Sometimes the worst things
are those that sit secretly in our homes.

My hands are on fire,
but not a single bit of flame is in sight and
my eyes are bleeding
and burning so I can’t tell red from white,
wrong from right.

Unwanted dissent;
the ranks are all restless and can’t find their bearings.
They’ll take directions
from beggars and choosers and all who will share them.

This old machine head
with its steam-powered engine and old rusted gears
hands out the answers,
and why should we doubt what’s been working for so many years.
What do we hear?

My ears are ringing
with the sounds of the cries that have fallen from dried out tongues.
It’s so misleading;
these show-and-tell lives left with nothing to hold on.

The play resuming,
the players dance on to the beat of the same old drummer.
So unassuming,
the seasons all blend till we can’t tell one from the other.
No summer.

Missing out on the present presented,
casting eternal stones.
So much of me invented
that I don’t know what to call my own.

My hands are shaking,
my heart is racing, and I’m not sure if I’m here.
My earth is quaking.
How long will it crumble before I just disappear?

This corpse decaying
gives life to the rest as it’s drained of all its own.
Soft voices saying,
‘It’s not yet your time, but some day you will be shown
all that’s known
and you’ll be home’.

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but in Autumn
seeds are sown
and birds no longer sing

what a simple creature, your needs so few
need to climb and chew, don’t you?
burying each treasure for later
waiting, humbly, for the Spring
each thing dug up, all yours
every last one of your Autumn stores
no shell, no mess, no touch
left as such
to feed you when the Summer sun
comes with its Summer heat
begging you to come and eat
but, so protective of your feast
when I approach, you’re quick to run
to flee

unaware of the nuts and seeds
tucked away in my hand I keep
to sow for you
unknown to you
now given to the other few
waiting for this mother who
gives you more to stash
keeps you away from digging trash

but hold on
here comes the frost
all your sustainence lost
sleep now, child
you’ll wake up soon
simple creature, needs so few
with life in Spring anew

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Tale told, myself sold for a trinket.
So bold, never thought I could think
such thing. My mouth sings what my heart strings.
It brings so much that I cannot put my finger on.

This reserve untapped, unspoken words,
Unfinished thoughts, inactive verbs.
Untold stories explain the absurd.
So incomplete, so much unheard.

These birds fly without any direction,
Fox filled by his own foolish deception,
Truths told by unearthed incorrection,
Lives lived through death and discretion.

This train, wrecked. This plane won’t fly.
These minds of ours refuse to die.
Lessons unlearned, so much unknown,
That only in the light is shown.

down the rabbit hole
deep in the trees
search through the dark
down on our knees

This reserve untapped, unspoken words,
Unfinished thoughts, inactive verbs.
Untold stories explain the absurd.
So incomplete, so much unheard.

These seas unsailed, these shores unbeached,
Mountains unscaled, depths yet unreached,
Parables, lessons, all still unteached,
Blood in the brain, siphoned and leeched.

down the rabbit hole
foxlike and swift
caught in the briar patch
receiving my gift

bleeding and broken
bleeding and broken
down on my knees
my prayers received
these prayers unspoken

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