I see
the bee
and the flower
In their relation
to sky
But I am
left gazing
and jealous
as a star
whose doubling
could never reach
heaven’s peak.
I am burning
With the sting
Of seeing
Myself loved
But feel
Only the
Returned
Thrust
of
A lusty
Sting song
From my nemesis,
Left burnt
until
the negation
of the common
snuffs me out
of the garden
of the world
Into one of white
bats or doves
Who are no universe.

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