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Lauren Camp
Manifesto
All afternoon the gilded bees rocket around
this ozone. Shift fragrance, build heat.
The bees’ sugar-dense eyes, the tease
of the river bend, the vascular twist through
tall stems. What do I know of such effort? I get up
and work. I sleep. I don’t save the world.
The insects tissue velvet marrow.
They etch a future on their bodies.
Is it baptism? lust? What takes place
means the next plant credentialed. Our sating.
The mouth wants its sweetness, the heart
its leaf veins. Or the mouth wants its secrets,
the heart its familiar, its temporary shelter.
Another summer fizzles from a nozzle.