Little girl
Blonde beneath
Papaya tree
Barefoot squish
Slimy seeds
Push between
Tiny toes
Runs away
Familiar jungle
Strange pollinator
Carries eggs
Fruit caviar
Feet planting
Tomorrow's garden

Scissors and slanted fingers
Skeletal trills
Stretched, hung, resembling my pollinator
sliding down my throat, and cut
cut,
cut
and choke on the blood
Thicker than pink or red
and purple and black
beneath my father

Sun drenched wild grass, in an ecstatic swirling dance-
didn't forget to tell this boldly to her lover, eager to please her:
"gentle breeze, how tantalizingly you caress and titillate,
but to tell the truth, I'll long still, for a robust wind, an ace pollinator."

You, the ashen alyssum
homing in on dark bushes
breeding maggots
feeding on flesh.  

You the fetid parasite  
carrion, the rotten stink
a toxin laced tongue
devouring pith.

You, the stench of
malignant blossoms
a venomous creeper, you
had to attract snakes.

You live among the graves
the poison pollinator,
a corpse floret
of foul odour.

You the venin
cloaked in smirk
a shrew, spiked with malice
must be crushed,
must die.

Stories are always rising with seeds,
Actions pollinated by characters,
Who spread actions in the world.

Then with apex the story grows,
Quickly or slowly depending on itself,
Having their own characteristics,
Kind of of pollinator, eater and habitat.

However it has an end,
Caused by the age or damage,
Not able to go back,
Just to set forth.

Time makes no resting places,
such occur in time spent, unredeemable,
waiting to see the effect,
suffering now to be,
wait, a call, yes
or
no, I have no terms to offer. Redeem the time
you have,
don't feel the need to borrow on eternity.
----- jump cut ---

Salve on the wound, ******* spits out the bit.

Mount up old man, we got an old tale
stuck in a Shalomic message state during
an ego war.
-- there are those scribes
-- wrestling, like kittens with the yarn…

Heir of winds am I, in mind to be.
What would I do,
eh, Jesus, what about you?

peace, be still, I'd say, in a voice so small,
few feel the call to listen to the first word
plied off the point in ever outward,
pearling, pear shapes,
stem to pollinator,
being all we may imagine,
in a given moment of peace past understanding.

With a prosaic drumming mixed in the humms.

Bees at ease in my perennially
blooming rosemary hedge. These fingers tapping.

I turn to you
     lips red with love
                      such a violent pleasure,
it drips from me in streams.
Reaching for you
I am undone
                  collapse
a wave
abandoning
rage on the shore,
leaves bowing
                                          “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”
I was unprepared,
no one told me it would be so hard to be human.
I did not know
that remaining soft
was a daily choice,
kindness an hourly one,
empathy and honesty
needing to be chosen
again
again
again
again
again
every moment...
If only
I had stayed
curled up
               /with no body/
in that deep place
where we
are all formless.
But I
wanted sunlight
I wanted
flowers
and the soft songs of bees
I wanted
arms,
a wet tongue,
I wanted
knees,
and toenails,
and freckles,
and knuckles,
and eyelashes
wanted
all of this strange, cumbersome beauty.
If I had been told
this was the price;
so much heart it beats to get out of you,
the unrelenting need to be loved,
so many words that my tongue grows swollen,
raw skin and blood in my palms,
skinned knees,
lost teeth,
the confusion of something I think is love,
the inability to make the people you care about stay,
learning to say goodbye,
learning to let the same person go
a thousand times over
because their is always
one more thing
you wanted to say to them
If only I had been told all of this first,
I would have forgone this human form
chosen something more fleeting,
perhaps a pollinator;
Holly Blue,
a few beautiful months
of sunshine
and flowers
and summer breezes,
feet small enough to rest on the softness of petals
to taste the sweet secrets of spring’s blooms
before the sky gathers me back into her arms.
But I did not know,
jumped in blind and laughing
waiting for miracles
dreaming of bird’s songs
and warm arms
to wrap around other bodies.
                                                                Yes
                                                                   Yes
                                                                     Yes
                                                    I have seen miracles!
                                               I have heard the birds!
                                 Been warmed by so many other bodies
                   I have been given, so much more than I could ever have imagined.
                                                         But at what cost?
                                                             Look at me!
                                                                                                  lips
                                           teeth
                                                                              hands
                                                          chest
                                                          all stained red;
                 the metallic taste of love
heavy in the air
              too much
                       too much
                                      too much
                                                             it pours out of me.
                          We were not taught what to do with this.
I turn to you,
              overwhelmed with love
and you cry out
             perhaps in fear
                                          perhaps in joy
                            and in that moment
             I question
                                                     why why why
                everything.
I pray
           to be made simple again,
                                       return me,
                                                       to that deep place
                           where all things rest
                                      wait formless,
                                                  till they are called back into the light
                                  I promise;
                                                         next time
                                                I grow hungry for the sun,
                                                                I will choose a creature
                                             who does less harm.

In fear of death
toxic products
sell themselves.

The landscape becomes
a graveyard of
rusted metal
and worn-out tires
surrounded by
green growth,
gray gravel roads,
and massive
towers with long
cylindrical tubes
that obscure the
heavenly scenery.

Boundaries are cornered by
fields of unfulfilled
corny potential
and metal fences
that gives the pretense
of security.

Twisted tangles of tiny blue flowers
are pursued by the perfect pollinator
as black birds perch precariously
on long stalks of wheat swaying in
the wind till the bird takes off again,

while a sassy sweat bee
keeps stalking me
cuz, I am super sweet.

Buzz
From HortiDaily: "In a few countries, bumblebees are not available and manual pollination must be used... It pays to remember.. that without proper pollination a tomato plant will not produce premium fruit.
When tomato plants are pollinated manually, the best method is by using electric bees. These are battery operated vibrators. Staff must vibrate every plant in the glasshouse three times per week "

Tomatoes won’t ripen right
without pollination.
It helps to have a bumblebee
to give that good vibration.
But if you lack the bumble,
there’s another way, you see:
Your plants all can be pollinated
manually.
You will need to use some labor,
and wield a good *******--
the electric bee will soon become
your best-loved pollinator.
Your fruit is premium
and you’ll want to keep its savor.