one machine buddha

She’s pouring in from the future. Floating on a river of bees. An egg in each hand and pearls in her teeth. Eyes of honey, radiating the hive. Her happiness a stripe that no one else can see. Polka dots of secret laughter. Favourable explosion weather. That’s all there is too it. Their fallout projections remain a fantasy. A radio on a card table all that remains of the so-called observation tent. Oblivion’s handkerchief.

Swimming in a river of bees. She’s pouring down from the future. Pearls in her mouth and eggs in her ears. Chunks of honeycomb in her hair, radiating danger. Her laughter a saving breath that no one else knows they need. Green dots on radar screens. Favourable explosion weather. A vast cloud thrown over the continent like a magician’s cape. The long exodus of refugee ants all that remains of the rain. Radio tuned to rhythms, or fantasy.

Drowning in a river of future bees. Floating on futures and pouring rain. A puddle of water in each hand, a pencil behind each ear. Eyes of radiant happiness. Tracing escape routes on her own hand, circling the radio tent. Listening to the honeydrops peppering the handkerchief like polka dots. Oblivious to the liquid’s transmission. Stripes and secret smiles. Fantasy exodus. Favourable explosion weather. Bam! That’s all there is too it.

2 Replies to “one machine buddha”

  1. Think that’s number 9.365 in the list of 10.000 ways to die:
    Death by drowning in a river of bees….

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