hornets and poets

there was
a red hornet
in my hotel
room angrily
its own reflection
in the hexagonal
mirror when
i returned
from seeking
alligators in
the bayou
yet only finding
suspicious stumps

did i bring
the crimson fury
inside with me
this vicious
vagabond having
hitched a ride
only to be
confronted by
its hated foe

maybe it is
a manifestation of
my sleepy snappishness
the first night
in a strange bed
is always difficult
new anxieties
hidden gators
angry hornets
southern accents
and crooked smiles
east texas has been
a strange balm
on my eerie soul

the truth can
slam itself against
its reflection
in your skull
until nothing but
a shattered carapace
glitters in hell
there can be an
anger in acceptance
but it is invariably
up to you when
you let it go

hornets and poets
have the same
ingrained idiocy
unable or unwilling
to truly give up
despite the foolishness
of empty gestures


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