A little bee
Is an exquisite chemist

I am a prisoner
Confined
Locked by the thoughts
In my mind
History frozen
In time
Reliving the moment
Of crime

It's never black and white or gray.
It's more of a ugly brown.
My thoughts are like a painters palette
or a house that's burning down.

Your eyes are glistening.
are the tears from joy
or sadness?

I always thought you looked like Frank O’hara.
(That is, after seeing a picture of Frank O’hara last night).

And we both have crooked noses,
So why don’t we just have a baby?
Force feed it poems and dip its hands in food coloring,
We can play muted guitar and watch the infant insect dance.

I will continue to refuse to die for myself,
And live with you at arm's length.