honey is not so perfect — sticky
likewise hexagons cause dizziness
flowers, pretty things, smell like prosperity
and golden balls that once were fun
cling to legs — fat passengers
on a dull day’s journey home.
home is a factory — all wind and buzz
moving but not going,
communal machinations of the gut
formed this labyrinth; a tricky maze, though
one place is much the same as any other
— much noise and spiraling ceremony.
we dress conservatively, style is defunct.
beauty is functional, or not at all.
there are no secrets here — we do what we all do,
warming ourself with many bodies,
shoved and slapped, no mirrors here —
no need, look anywhere we see ourself
the smell of us, honey and nectar
thickness, light, no shadow.
having wings, we fly in circles.
Image: Seven Bees and Flies (1575–1580) painting in high resolution by Joris Hoefnagel, The National Gallery of Art