the answers sought, have barely glanced beyond
these blinders, equine, broad; we often beg
and query who we even are, and why.
No existentialism: it's just that I've
just noticed this refrigerator hum.
Inaccurate ear paints a teaspoon of sugar,
its simple pallete synaesthetic as metaphor.
Picture cane-shaded fingers forming
halls when locked with mine; human home
where wasp laid to rest. Killer bees flown,
I'd imagine gentle bears could gather
sufficient sweets to honey-spackle memories
that resonate like Quervo crystals, freezing.
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