Angry as robbed bees,
and a savage flutter,
shapeless anxiety climbing the crest;
honey clinging to swords -
words dripping defect and disorder.
Defenseless stones beaten with a body;
murdered fists of saint jerome,
slaughtered against a humming breast.
Canvas of flames stain old wax older,
candles of mold and liquid feed,
but with a kiss -
thoughts careening,
death falling from foreheads,
so sleep mirrors the defeat -
of an obvious poverty -
of an inheritance of carnations
and guilty confessing knees.
Today, birds feast upon winged question;
tonight, with fluttering keys
of iron, ivory and ebony
within the resurrected instrument -
the carcass runs wild within itself.
For now, robbed freedoms bleed,
and soon, with song indeed,
the bees will come, bringing sweetness
more gold than gold in humble seed.
