[Bug der Argo, Joseph Beuys, 1952]
Hunger at the Edges of a Black Stone Square
Asking that found a coo coo hole in me
a bow open to dread and your eyes
that didn’t seem eyes that I might
slide into and not return.
My own pupils propped me out
kept me scrabbling like a bee
cuddling and slipping on clover flowers kept out
of nectar deep in brown.
I’m still pushing with no retort for you.
Your asking unmasks me
You widen soft then stitch needle-narrow shut
lids saving me from any fall to nectar.