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Jan 2013
The needle-tip,

a bee sting

giving rise to a hive.

A sickening delirium
coursing mercurial under eyelids,

tapeworms and tendrils
weaving wildly:

teeming, churning tides breaking over
greedy teeth (a needy mouth

flaying flesh ferociously,
a fevered wolverine
whipping through a petting zoo).

Each agonizing second
slowly sliding by,
tacky molasses on cloth
covering a table in an innocuous
American home
bruises on mother's face
fade (eggplant to jaundice
to the crimson of the setting sun
dying behind the horizon
line {chopped across a counter-top
like a broken promise...}).  

All the lives we compromise

trying to cage a swarm.
I'm really unsure about this. In an attempt to create a chaotic feeling I'm afraid it's just vague or a collection of jarring imagery. Thoughts?
Shane Hunt
Written by
Shane Hunt  Saturn
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