Colony Collapse Disorder

After the inaugural Wrestling Night

Alright, I'll believe in your magic for another minute
just promise me you'll remove the boots.

There's a cold science to traffic
that we're always in the process of understanding

the quiet times, the nurse trash times, solvency

One can't help but pity
the Australian highway system
their inaccessible middle
their clog-hearted coast ribbons
their black ballroomism

water colors into bruise swirl puddles
into unnameable nudities
we requisitioned by not improving anything

here's to grappling, to the head-tap
that your unconscious response
let's me know you aren't ready
for me or the bees
who were so horrible who
we want with all our atoms
to come home.