BEE AN APPLE
The taste of an apple,
the cringing of a bee
as sun stops turning
a ladle over their skins;
the fire gold stains
on apple's skin,
the honey yellow, black bits
a hornet wrinkles in.
[37]
EMPTINESS
The threadbare uniforms
we let stare at others
we would refuse ourselves.
The bare walls, misunderstanding,
Support nothing,
taut empty sounds.
The inclusion of everything
excludes nothing
except why it was done.
[38]