A daisy chain adorns
A head without a body,
Rolling from the throne.
Bleeding, staining daisies,
Lying, to keep the dream alive
In the quarter of the day.
A tongue cut clean, just as it tastes
The bittersweet of meaning.
The sentence ends when it makes sense.
The hill adorned by daisies;
Palpably, the bees buzz round,
Sleeping deep in petal beds.
Pollen shrouds the bees’ pale bodies,
Lying, slumbering, stealing dreams
In the quarter of that day.
My head lay locked in daisy hills,
Eyes wide open, gazing at
A florid sun whose promises sting.
A cut tongue, unfinished lines,
Lips apart for Hades’ hymn.
The world rotated to the center.
The center will never be me.
The choice will never be me.
The lover will never be chosen.
Buzzing bees, heavy with pollen,
Gather sweetness from the crown—
And lay to rest on a head with no body.
