14 June 2010


Crock 6/14

It is a tub of honey         you say
it is, this curved earthen jar
full of golden, clear, smooth

I hold it to my lips
pour it over my head
the glazing comes down

Like a new born         the slime
of bees, fills all space
you say         you made this

Bees tipping on last years nettle
when things were different
simpler         you say

No, not easier though
curved, like this jar, darker
dirtier, you say I'm morbid

I laugh filling my teeth with
honey, filling my lungs with
the scent of things no longer around

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