a sweet ignition path

water and cellulose

electrolytes

inflame earthen flares
smoulder fragrant emissions

the corona buds and splits
a tiara of analog and magnetism

the divine right of the heavenly
granted with a petalled halo

little things
orbit and land

worship and feign fealty

occidental arthropods
colonize the regal

minuscule conquering feet
ravenous appetites

absorb the sweet
drill for hydrocarbons
syphon the nectar

mine gametic gold dust

its a fickle adoration
tribute to a temporal deity

selfish consumption

          
the true queen
awaits the repatriation
of her winged conquistadors

At Your Service

would you have angels kneel
their feathers touch the ground
pinions form ramps so minuscule beings
might transcend glass metropolises
urban hovels and over-flowing gutters

to tromp about the heavens
like Icarus, but wingless
soon scorched just the same

how did the angel get his wings
did he demand his plumes
did he roll around in the muck
so sticks and dead leaves would mimic plumage

from afar it’s hard to tell the difference
the faux, the knock-offs, from the genuine

good luck flying that way
the only thing taking to air
will be the stench of decaying detritus

would you have angel’s kneel
their feathers touch the ground
because for you, they might

soon there will be no more angels aloft
only minuscule beings like you
treading upon their bended spines

how did the angel get his wings
by never asking anyone to kneel
so he could gain a better a view

the angel got his wings
with faith he could fly

***