Thursday, September 20, 2007

a poem I found in the in case of fire box!

It was a stout bee-- the one hovering over the flower's lavender tongues.
The wings worked so fast he looked like a mere black and yellow cotton ball.
It was 1993.
The second-hand stroller scrapes the jutted cracks.
A pink baby with twiggy arms and marble eyes caresses the patterned roof.
Like it was large-printed Braille.
Lace dances on the backs of my calves as I kneel to the plant.
Fat fingers snatch at the violet, and I squeal to my mother with the gift.
It was once the most indomitable of all the worker bees.
And it died with a mere splinter
His magic sword
In the palm of my hand.

3 comments:

josh said...

Dude... hows this...?

Bee's Sting
+2 Vicious Short Sword
3/day user can affect target with poison as the spell (DC 18). CL 7th. Upon affecting the target user must make a DC 14 for take 2d6 con dammage.

em said...

i love the fire box!

Anonymous said...

oh my darlin
oh my darlin
oh my darlin
china
my darlin-
i have a secret present for you here in taylorville
from one lover (me!) to another (you!)
it involves a grateful dead bear and maybe a tear or two?
where are you these days? oh right... a world away.
melancholy. miss you like a violin misses its finely-tuned... soul.
stars in your tea-cup eyes... did i mention i miss you. hey, i miss you.
e m m a l i n e (in the city)