bee being

lettuce dances.
did you know that?
i saw it today
perform Swan Lake,
its last song sung
before it was flung into my burrito,
a picnic in the wind.

chairs also sing,
performing improvisations
as we sit static
unsuspecting of anything more
than a chance to rest. (our laurels)
on this note
i’ve witnessed symphonies
in dining halls and chapels.

that bee?
he doesn’t want to sting,
only to find out what kind of rare flower
he encounters when witnessing my presence.
he suspects the same of you—
don’t move—
he’ll figure it out and buzz along
his merry little way.
(he apologized for the confusion.)

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