A bee whistles past his ear He feels the sound . . he doesn’t care Averts his eyes in case there’s others Raises his hands to fix his hair
Divorced from reality somewhat: from feeling. Or at least extremes of: Never exceeding amounts unfeasible: Pertaining to the limits thereof: Plateaued at governable levels in present: Exempt from enth Kept in check His whistle wet & he’s well fed
Real words strewn along the ground Discarded leaves fallen Left decaying: mostly forgotten
His pants look to him pantaloons For the good they do representing him the man chases an end necessary; resenting not waning, he feigns stoicism then his creeping cynicism clouds his eyes
‘u know what buddy, u can honestly get ******’ he says ‘the 1st world cries the loudest; but is softest. Thinks it is toughest; it is weakest, smoothest, creamiest.’ ‘u know what buddy u are honestly right’ he says to himself not wanting to admit to himself that he agrees with himself, but despite this all, his gaze’s focus still lowers the edges become softer & he does what he does
he wraps up in his blanky with his bottle; safe under cover among some big ******* to feel warm but the swarm of bees they circle twitching fever; rippling waves
hope to god that they don’t sting you as u hide & feel their sway lapping closer swooping hawk like collective wind; they rearrange
and then
they push left !swoop! they raise u up, ( a cloud of black and brown and yellow arches and hums, hums like a razor on steroids, seeping potent purpose, pushing, coming: close your eyes for impending hell) leaving bumps that swell and burn, they grab, they encase, they consume, they drive, they raise and they push and they deliver u and u obey them and u relinquish; u fold enslaved they push u forward !the buzz! it wakes it makes u groan, u can’t ignore it u know u need it u’ve got to do it u need to go
toil on & reap the spoils another set with the walking beige
go here go there: be happy u have no reason to not this day just keep on going, mate my mate lulling deep into the beige