Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Long Walks

These days my calves hurt terribly
and the laundry remains so undone
I stink like a car dying into flowerbeds.

Against me, the bees assemble oilslicks.
My face slickens into colors
I fear are too productive for peace.

I can't help thinking the green of this field
is too much like a home to hope for.

To the bees I'll give that much at least
and start walking to meet them, betting one leg by one leg against a bright-dark.

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