my neighbors are a hornets nest

there is never enough time to tell the truth.
i am not blaming them or else i guess sometimes i am.
i wake up in the middle of the night to their
furies. their restless hum. their stingers
in one another's eyes. yesterday 
a neighbor stood on the lawn 
calling & calling someone 
who never picked up. each redial was
more frantic than the last. 
i drove around the block
wishing they were butterflies or
even just moths. hornets are pollinators too though,
you know? i always thought of myself
as a honeybee without a queen. there are
so many things to worship & i can't seem
to find one. my computer suggested
"worry" instead of "worship" &
that is true too. i do not trust
pest men. i do not trust caramel or sugar.
hornets knock on my door. i find myself
full of yellow. my hornet self 
walking the hallway of empty portraits.
i find my nest. my hive.
i find my fingers gone astray.
this building. this anger. the pipes 
that shout in their dark narrow rooms.
the low hum that continues all through the night.

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