NPM 16

Instead Of Buzzing

You said something about tides
and trains converging being
exemplary poetic material, which
is precisely why I will not write
a poem about these things.
Nor the wanton way your eyes
bore into my eyes. Such things
as movements of mass transit,
of nature, of gazes, are workaday
and thus finite. In light of all
dreck that pummels our senses,
the stuff of viral marketing,
of pitching each new thing
as vital, as though it were missed
before its existence - it would
seem that such things huge
and significant as hive minds
and hearts would bear sufficient
resonance to warrant the application
of such immortality as poesy
can engender. But what seems
is not always what is and what is
cannot always be touched by bees.
I am not sure, short of peeling
back the transparencies of this
multiverse, what can be done.