Sick to my stomach — is it
bad milk or White Male
Death Cult shockwaves, 
bees in my right brain,
yellow jackets in my left,
the stinging from one struggling
to overwhelm the other 
and the battle rolling, rolling…?

Sick to my stomach — is it
their laughter or their disregard
or both, the buzzing of all
the insects around me disorienting
the air itself so it all smells
like vomit, the coupled scent of roses
and lead, the flavor of
how long the disappearance of good
will be, can be, might be…?

Sick to my stomach…is it
the year? the news? the unexpected
drama from so many who should 
have known? This is the Church
of Worship of Churches. Its incense
opens nausea windows in the world
we have known, people voiding
their rights, the bees making
a last stand against it all, 
enraged, fighting, going for 
their eyes, their balls…their unholy
conception of a god’s will.