Calendula Oil

walking under Leo, this path is long
without boundries, broken papoose,
i encounter the skep of my summers.

mid-field, sky grey with thunders,
thunders
step to the familiar house of my commons and trivialities,
my pulses and sanguine-parts.
lone emissary, intrepid, dilligent as i have never been,
bumbles out, circles, targets my third eye.

prickly, then spindly-currents, sharp and cruel,
rush, shatter the nerves all along my face.
I am afraid, I feel such a sting,
and nowhere,
nowhere is the Beekeeper.
I'll fix my own infusion.
and rub the oil,
rub the oil.