scattered and plentiful,
tangled in
the spindling of
worker bees
and
soldier ants.
in the back room
of my skull,
i have jars full of
these purposes,
neatly labelled,
arranged according to
size
and
obligation
(starting with
the largest.
naturally).
but there is
one jar
which has not
collected dust,
whose lid has
been opened
and closed
and opened again
more times
than it had agreed to.
i clutch it close
and push it away.
it sings to me
and
scolds me.
it beckons me
and
repels me.
slowly lift its
lid,
let its voice
fill the air.
its words are
simple
and it asks
what i always
ask
and what i
always
seek:
how
on this earth
can i
convince you
to stay?
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