This is not a factory
a socially structured mass of ONE
the living organism view overlaid
as human paradise, if only…
I’d walk through amber walls
exactitude of hexagon, tessellated to infinity
as needs must, as decreed by queens.
Imbibe potpourri scents secreted here
flowers of field and hedgerow
– elixir and dust. Sip water siphoned
from depthless pools that cool
and liquefy the honeyed crystals
wrapped in wax.
A myriad iridescent wings
dulled by shade soak up the spectrum,
dot to dot each sortie traced
and compassed by the sun. We hear the hum
imagining the beat of ailerons
it is the daily concert
of harvesters, an upbeat festival of feast
before the want of winter.
Mish prompts us to take an object and write about it subjectively, beginning with “This is not a ______”. A beehive came to mind immediately, I'm not sure why so I went with this for "Object Poems"