Back in my bleak days, when I used to wait tables at LongHorn Steakhouse, a scrounger friend of mine called me about an opportunity. Those were the days of busting my hump for meager tips from ... [+]
There's a body in the blueberries.
Inside the hedge
from where the bees emerge
and emerge.
So many bees. So many
I can feel them buzzing
beneath my skin.
They tunnel the tubes
of my earways. They walk
the globes of my eyes.
In through the nose, out
through the mouth, leaving traces,
other bodies they have known,
hair washed with motel shampoo,
the wishes that come before sleep,
snatches of names, leafy muffles.
Each bee plants its message
soon to ripen, swell summer velvet:
it goes white to green to blue.