Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Sugar by the Pound

They can still send you bees by post,
In gently-humming, rough-pine boxes,
An incarcerated female army,
(Now guarded always door to door,
For our Queen will not handle theirs),
Hand-over-hand in the fetid darkness,
Slowly and surely they lay their plans,

These thugs have mobilisation fever,
A long-delayed and compressed anger,
Built in the hive mind of this scrap,
Torn from the precious motherland of wax,
There'll be an exodus, fight AND flight,
In the release of a thousand convicts,
Armed and dancing in the flowers.

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