I have these epiphanies they’re strangling the world jejune and the lion’s mane mushroom invents the shame of hanging ice in the sun an impersonation of the nerve of a lion an animal that sleeps off its kill like earth will sleep us off I had this very weird experience in my garden then, the sweet obsolete mercenaries we call bees had congregated in the space where a black bear had scratched a tree and they were sucking the rotting log the soft wood now a fungus gave them enough honey to drip from the neck of this broken birch bloody yet tickled with the low rain of its own temptation to mend when the rot is our immune system new to ancient beauty trying to grow a blond and abolition foolish I lash out sometimes and touch madonna’s stolen children with an unplugged hot comb to make sure we’re breathing like virgins
The bees when finished feeding flap their wings until their wings are shredded and collapse into scarabs
I have this bouquet of their last hallucinogens it’s chewing on my cousins kneeling while they moan
