Comb - Kitt Hodsden

They are swarming

— angry and starving.

Life is changing.

The nest has died.

The cold of Winter frosted

Those with purpose.

The Queen is homeless

And must rebirth a colony.

The rage is kicking up,

I can feel the sprays of spit

as the furry screams at my cheek bones.

My hands are wanting to rip and destroy,

The fight is rising.

Something must come down.

Raw material is needed.

Fresh eggs need a home.

All feels futile.

I rip, and there are more layers.

I bitch, and the words are meaningless.

I run, and go nowhere.

I climb, and everything crumbles.

I sleep, only to be shaken by dreams.

Exhausted from swatting,

Broken into tears,

I beg…

“What do I do?”

She whispers…

Stand still.

Let the violent flap of wings blow layers off your paper-made fortress.

Let the buzz ripple waves of inspiration in your ear.

Let erratic flight remind you

that Nature can not be confined to the straight and narrow.

But, but, but…..

She interrupts my debate.

You’ll have no energy to build if you keep fighting the formless.

Allow the fears to fornicate around you,

And Focus on yourself

They only sting when threatened.


I drop my arms.


I need a nap.


I’ll get back to building when I wake.


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