Hive
A paper brown
bag stuck in the branches of a tree
Or
Old bark
curling off into muslin pearls
Maybe
Dead leaves gathered
into a bunch, stuck
In the intersection
of trunk and branch
Instead
The fine
walled architecture of a wasp’s nest
Blending in with
the bark of the tree
The wasp,
with its segmented head, drank
From puddles
and mud,
Spit its
nest into a thin form, paper clay
Such craft from its
mouth
The entrance
to the hive like a gaping hole
O,
surprised
O,
humming
O,
screaming
O, mouth that licks
the hole, the buzz, tongue and mandible,
O, chews the meat of
the earth, carnivorous
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