Honeybees Building Homes for Things So Much Sweeter

We felt our asphodels dancing without limbs;
florally bursting in synchronized routines untouched by post-mortem mortars in places repressed by Freudian idiosyncrasies--
We built jigsawed fences around them so only we could know where they’d go,
We built
and we built,
knowing that at a date post-Mayan calendar, post-haste,
we’d destroy all we’d create--
It was our nature:
in our manic hands shivering in tarot voices.
It was our nature:
screaming in languages we had yet to create.

Oh asphodel,
Your sadist stems are eradicating us,
you pull/pulk us into silent-filmed wars
of the scared versus the sacred
filmed in synchronized revolving door routines.
You pull/pulk us
despite these sodomized gates of steel wool 
we’ve built
with our hands;
smaller than dandelions.

Our hands,
awaiting dogmatic applause
from domesticated temperatures with red and orange ribbons
tied in their fiery locks--
they shook in frequencies we had yet to create.
We had wondered when we’d meet you (my dear asphodel,)
unable to shake 
your hands,
but lighter-fluid perfumed;
prepared 
to feel
the fever unbeknownst to us;
the fever we’d been forsaken for.

In our war of the scared and the sacred,
there are no echos;
no windows;
no ripple effects!
Let us die for things we’d never believe in,
to discard our bloodshed as shedding our skins!
Let us grin with dogmatic dog tags around our throats,
and take our new identities as consolation prizes!

Oh asphodel, 

Will our freed bodies be the ones to
walk on and off snow-fallen digital screens,
force-feeding viewers spoonfuls of sympathy,
Or will generation X-Y-Z need canine ear-drums percussing at steady basslines 
to decipher our dusted white noise?
(WE KNOW NO SACRED,
THERE IS ONLY SCARED!)
Amongst terrorist burnt toast and honeybees building homes for things so much sweeter,
will our ashes be distinguished 

from the sand castles 
of mortar-and-pestle powdered bones? 

I will write to you in characters we have yet to create,
describing to you the things we could never know.
Our dandelion fingers
will touch serpent stems flourishing in Persephone’s tangled locks,
and we will fall
into ourselves,
no echos;
no windows;
no ripple effects--
to destroy all we’d create,
and lay with it there
in sodomized gates of steel wool. 

'

Author's Note

unifnished

Reviews

[I am a moth and not a b..]

"Amongst terrorist burnt toast and honeybees building homes for things
so much sweeter," that was really pretty, thanks! enjoyed it!

[SinnerInspired]

This so great!
It reminds me of the movie Inception
Love the part:
We jigsawed fences around them so only we could know where they'd go