The Process of Understanding Strawberry Bees

by Darryl Price


Are all my words lonely, or nearly departed; decapitated;

Visible only from the ankles down, nonchalant? I

Get bored. All my words are not paying

Strict attention to television. I get dysfunctional.


My words, coincidental though they may seem, are

Like any ordinary, nasty scar—sad-looking, sensitive, and

Deep, but who cares, right? It's all blah,

Blah, blah. Useless information. All my words are


Perfect examples of thinking of you and not

Complying with the rules of engagement at all.

Bad, bad, bad poet. All my words are

Being constantly torn from the cuff, broken into,


Rinsing, hungry parts, and strewn out across a

Heart-shaped field like the stars that silently surround

Us. All my words are another living creature

Altogether. And, yes, all my words disappear under


The water that is your person like so

Many bonny swans looking for tasty treats in

The swirling expressions of your dancing falls. Insert

Any word you'd like. It all applies. All


My words are like a small cake. I'm

Not like everybody else-- in this regard, but

I'm not sure any of it matters. All

My words repeat the same mistake. Wouldn't mind


Helping me out here, would you? All my

Words have run off into the sunset.  All

My words cough impolitely. My words create

A vacuum. All my words, in between breaths,


Are too complicated to explain themselves to the

Jury. All my words spin around like satellites.

All my words are mortal. All my words

Are crammed onto these fingertips like ants.