My dreams are wicked
They drown me beneath miles of sea
and when, finally, I have passed every leviathan
spun uncontrolled in the wakes of their travel
to reach the surface
my wrinkled fingers break through
layers of thick honeycomb
crawling with fuzzy, bloated bumblebees
Up ain’t safe.
April 20th, 2008 Posted in Poetry
Apr, 20 2008
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