Friday, October 17, 2008

It's not very good but I wrote it anyway

I've tarted it up in an inappropriate title, but it's got to have a title. This one admits poetry's apiaries all belong to one person --but what am I gonna do? I'm the bee guy. Besides, when the Poet Tyrant sees it I'll never have another chance to write anything, let alone bad poems. Here you go:


CAN THESE BEES NOT BE EMILY'S?

The bees of a slow world do not buzz;
The whirring of their wingspans isn't wind;

The honey of slow bee, though sweet,
The sweetness is itself enough to eat;

The sweetness of a beesting isn't sleep:
It is loss and it is longing. It is heat.

In the slow world we don't speak;
We don't remember, we don't know
Where we have been.

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