Fuzzy, bristly-backed


zingers dashing

dazzling, arabesque-ing

around a planetoid-ish bustling azalea

with an abundance of blooms…

Like electrons delicately

whizzing ’round an atom nucleus,

except that they sometimes

alight upon the surface doing their

much more biological guzzling of nectar.


And all I do is watch like the

eye of a distant spiral galaxy in awe…

timelessly, endlessly as the business

goes on…


The fascination is either with something

that is happening on a microcosmic level,




Or it isn’t, and it’s just the hypnotizing

acrobats pulling my attention into their

buzzing zone—their slight-of-wing trick, invisible

but for an inter-dimensional fluttering sonic insinuation.


The awe comes from the shame of knowing

I will never be that tricky or that zen.

I am defined by lumbering… despite to what

my younger self aspired.


Like this poem it either

is chock-laden-bulging with meaning

or it is an empty non-sonnet with words

that make no synaptic connection at all…

just a lot of flighty alliteration that

dances ’round the ear…

droning on…



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