An erroneous sense of being wrong,
And trying to pinpoint
The exact moment,
Like a bee sting on a thumb
Surprising the idle dozing God of Doldrums,
When the other universe collapsed.
Midriff mildew stings
A hair-foot giant flower bee;
Seven counties in her wings,
Nests in embers we foresee.
A female blackbird black won’t give,
We trapped her willow wanderings;
She stole the roads, the pheasants live,
When murders end, so too detectives.
A company of wigeons
Fed seeds beside the streams,
Wreaked havoc on decisions,
Commuting coughs in web-foot dreams.
In the river there lived a spirit,
A translucent Naiad, butter-blue,
Now the water she will not visit,
Her body turned to wood for fuel.
There is no taking from nature
Without nature keeping track;
Wild boars will measure the failure
When they bring the forests back.
The title is taken from a Chinese expression, “to shake the tree and feel the wasp sting”, written as:
A gairy-bee dead
So soon amongst stubborn weeds;
Where were you heading?