Yes! I am full of bees and
every half of me is in revolt.
These are the words of a woman
grumping with a bag
of sopping tobacco and sore shoulders
about moving. You know I would want nothing
more than to be horizontal,
you should never have to see my feet
and my eyes in the same room. Actually you should
need to swivel your head to see all my billowing,
doles and cells running running away
like from a crime scene, sideways and spinning
and my feet slightly raised for the blood. Great
news: a flagstone cannot roll. Worse:
there are many other kinds of motion,
I have learned their secret names. Okay basically,
you get born, and some years after she tosses you
you hit the black-netted water headfirst
that complete waste between worlds and start
skipping. It's a somewhat miracle, properly a travesty.
Have you ever seen a stone skip in place?
I told my lover, my ledger hand, nothing felt so good
as going back to bed. The morning after they left me
I woke up again, groaned, I flipped up off the mattress
as moderately lost as a niece. A daughter in a mean world.
And if I'd took that shower I might have gone
back to bed or not or both bees
bees bees bees. It's all bees out there. And what? Just me
telling myself you never had to love life to live, and like magic
nothing changed.