PHOEBIC. BEE-ING
BY JAI
There is an ever-onward agony in human bee-ing
Good God have mercy won’t they leave me be;
Memories like manatees deftly navigating in darkest
murk, synaptic rivers and schema streams, bloated
comical cows, veritable ghosts in my machine,
they hover they fade, they bottom feed, vigorously
chewing the cud of my mental mud and overgrowth.
The ever-onward agony in human bee-ing
Great googely moogelies why can't I be free;
of the glut and clamor, the needs and wants
and in considerations, always on call, ever more at
this station, incessant plucking and pruning and
managing of the encroaching weeds, true beauty
and blossoms so few and far between.
The ever-onward agony in human bee-ing
Great green slabs of mutilated monkey meat;
My inward roar and rage, the press and the cloister,
a certain squeeze of the popular space, sick in my
bones at the friendly touch, makes me often wish
my pheromones were mace, internal space invaded
along with solace breached, as alienation is averted.
The ever-onward agony in human bee-ing
Greed for gathering my tomb is gratitude;
complicated with living, ghosts that I can't
live without, feeding faces and forming alliances,
guarantees that surely they will in no way be
leaving, I will never not be needing such a
humiliating revelation; I am — just as thee.
The ever-onward agony in human bee-ing
Greener grass always opposite refortified fences;
Bereft of intimate interaction, craving and creepy,
I become inconsolable, the worry in want, sickening
in a sense, such a tragic wickedness, desperation
stretched out and affection quarter rationed for
survival, I cannot thrive without the hive.
The ever-onward agony in human bee-ing
God grant me toxic masculinity that I might;
harbor no illusions, gathering no moss, may
my rock remain steady, though I sink to the sea’s
bottom, like a cracked millstone cast off, an
anchor umbilically linked to the surface, where
they play and linger, mingle and matriculate. | JM