September 2016
Oh my, oh my, I lose myself
I study atlases and cirrus paths
in search of traces of it, of you
Of that thing, of that song
I keep pressing my ear to the current of air to hear … I hear it and it disappears
It was all I wanted to do in this life to sense that phantom tap
on my nerves, to allow myself
to be hit by it, attacked, aroused
until, as if someone else, I arise
I dance my part in paradise
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I read that bees who’ve drunk
imidacloprid
can’t waggle to indicate to others where the best nectar is located
(you and I also long to map
for each other the sweetest
suck of sap)
Workers carry far less foodback to the waiting hive.
They wander, wobblecan’t bring their wayhome alive
The imidacloprid-imbibed
can’t bring it back
to the colony.
Some hives collapse entirely. I desire to say that I, I would do it differently
I would be the bee, bloomed with pesticide.
that still would shake out a wiggle
like the finger’s signature
on the iPad at checkout:
not quite you, but still identity
more like a wave than solid you yet enough to signify:
There, there, in the far off field spiked acanthus, trumpets of datura
in the abandoned loton the corner of International and High
the mystic assignation the golden throat of light:
gorge, gorge, take your fill, I would cry
before I too failed and my bumbling body lay down to die
I’d dance my last dance
to rescue the hive
yes, I’d carry the amber whirrers
out alive
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Or not. Perhaps I too would succumb
to the corn syrup, chemical
piped into our supply.
(I, too, longing to find my way to you, would go off course.)
Alas. There is still melody, rhythm, someone is streaking out in air, droning
around the phonograph, which is the groovedheart valve of the black vinyldivine who is winding this universe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Someone is dancing us.
Will it be you?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dance, dance, as the hive collapses
Dance, dance, while the colony disassembles
Dance the occasion. Dance the gorgeous design
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
inside the honey
of our lit up veins
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
between the stripes and streams of these swift rays
Note: I do not own any rights to this poem. All rights go to the author and the publisher, Penguin House. I am just here to share and inspire this beautiful piece of work.
Bee The Change 