03 March 2016

Poem-A-Day #3 : bee sting

bee sting

          the red
      shoulder      the shoulder
where the red      hold
my hand I'm scared

          hold the red
      parts of my shoulder      in your hands
cup them      like tea sandwiches
overpriced and crustless

          my hand      slipping
      beneath my shirt
grabbing      at the knot of flesh
the animals keening endlessly

          where the bees
      in winter      go to red shoulder
drive off the edge of it
continue into a field of where

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