Internalised Hive – a poem

These pictures, all silent, tell stories

Staved in by mallets of the dull imaginings

From dead minds as dry as gravestones

Covered in the rotting weed tangles;

Alone.

*

The insect hordes of illimitable idols

Rear up against the tales of vegetable

Brains in jars, to demand more, asking

Long shown to be futile, pictures still;

Silent.

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