Geometric Allegory

Yeast on Passover: To Lynn I've wanted to write this letter to you for a while. I get that you are the ring finger.... You are the ring finger cut from the hand of God. You miss father. You fuck father.... You fuck father finger.... I've seen it And I've heard it And I've carried it with me. You've shown your red solitary circle Aimed and taut, puffed up cherry-plumb. Those familiar wings stem from the sides. And yes, you are the red circle with white wings. Enough time has passed now That I can put my thoughts into words Without trailing off into nonsensical obscenities: And here they are, These collection of thoughts Formed into vowels and consonants Coded, shaped, and aimed at you.  Here goes.... You're a nasty, terrible woman. I mean that.... Sincerely. It feels good say, Though it shames me, too.... I'm 44 years old now, So I'm no child, But still it feels good for me to call you out Just like a ch...

I sit in the garden and watch The bees buzz from flower to flower. I know them as angels,  As little specks of yellow fuzz-and-stingers  Carrying the magic pixie-dust  Needed to keep the world alive.  The bees are, in my mind, great alchemists  Mixing different pollens To create new fruits.  I too am on an errand for my Father, And a collection of cosmic space dust Clings to my knees. I bring Him pollen so that he might have  What he needs.  It is not uncommon for some of those fuzzy angels  To stumble and falter at my feet.  I watch the dying bees  Labor and breathe And flicker and fade.  Always I wonder what was my role in this?  Should I sit back and watch the scene unfold,  All while doing nothing? ' Do the bees have a right to their own death?  Did they own the suffering, the lameness, the asphyxiation?   Or, since falling prostrate at my feet,  Do they want the ultimate mercy?  Perhaps there ...