the honey bees are dying

a street sweeper at this time of night only makes the bleeding skies more eerie.
reflection hazy.
worn out is as lonely does,
i feel like i could close my eyes for decades,
and when i lift my eyelids i'll have missed nothing.
nothing but a little smudged mascara and a 5 am phone call,
echoing from an empty car
while freshly changed sheets turn over in their sleep.
spring will come as usual, only this time my grin will be toothless
like a jack o lantern,
only less square. still a little empty and rotting
i am fluffy like pumpkin pie filling,
you roll it around on your tongue and murmur "hmm. interesting.."
only it's not quite your style,
so a few bites into it you quit and abandon your sweettooth,
fondling the crust edges aimlessly,
the taste of familiarity.

i keep catching myself hiding in the strangest places,
like a creepy subconscious game of sardines.
if only i could pack all the masks into a trunk and swallow the key,
and then when my plane goes down
you can bite into the fruit of my ash-tree
and savor the metallic taste of finally. finally free?
once there is no more skin to disguise.

the static snowstorm of dreams is a small solace
when you're too indecisive to choose a winter coat.
the warm, oozing embrace of a comfort laden bed brings less ease
when you wake up in cold sweats, chasing breaths and ghosts
that haunt visions of lands that you can't recall
as real at all, anymore.

i don't think i'll have turkey this year. i would feel too guilty.
for once in my life i thought from their point of view
the kind of creature who looks up into the heavens when it rains,
astounded by the miracle, so flabbergasted by the sensation
and caught in the moment,
that they forget to close their mouths-wide open in amazement-
and drown themselves.
i feel like we're kindred spirits, you see...
scatterbrained and too curious for our own good
and when i look up, turn my gaze skywards..
whether out of desire (to be washed clean and pure),
fascination,
optimism,
reverence,
etc
i just lose myself in the madness and end up choking
on the beauty of it all.
plus,
i'm sure i would taste just as delicious if i were full of cornbread
instead of organs (or lack thereof).

summer rain or whale semen?
it's all the same when you can't read the code anyway,
when the emblems could stand for something
less meaningful and more laughable
the pretty intangible symbolism suddenly becomes
the butt of your own joke above your butt
(slightly to the left.)

maybe i just need to get the celery out of my ass.