That bee
the one in my head
it’s speaking again
and my being is a-fire
with its echoing calls
that ricochet off 
the walls of my skull
deafening and shrilly twisted
but also crisp and 
clearly intentioned
its stinging voice
flowing through the byzantine 
maze of veins and arteries
muscles and tendons 
encased within my tingling skin
so that I am nothing
but pure desire 
a carnal aching
wantonly desperate
to open my mouth
to reply to this world
to act up 
and act out
to divorce myself 
from mindless paralysis and 
benighted caution
to finally exist here 
and now
in the moment of
my own truest life
before that wild 
and wily insect 
can manage escape
and I lose 
all sharpened
woken nerve
“In my head a bee is speaking…”
– Max Jacob

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