Poetry / Poets

colony collapse by Alex P. Grover

[Mother] says we’re    disappearing

the good sons are        fleeting

 

the pace to the comb is slower

and the pace back home

nears longer, like whole days in hours

and

processes

inserting into whole

processes

 

something in the air—

breathing’s another job

that commands our lungs like pistons

 

[Mother] says we’re    getting older

the fine sons are          going

 

the will to work is dimmer

and the will to sleep home

sends brothers             off

to a death house

in the field

 

something out there—

[Mother] wants us bleeding

because it is a good blood

that determines our

life comb

 

[Mother] says we’re    losing               our                   wings

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3 thoughts on “colony collapse by Alex P. Grover

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