In morning,

the still rope

leaves us with only

dreams of bee's1, its paleness,

ideas of hideous “men”2

and an obscure answer

to why the addict3

lived when he should

have died against a wall,

head cupped under his arms,

shivering, lonely, until

the honeycomb rain ends.





1.     Bees being pale,

         being hand-sized,

         being flower envious, being

         drowned in their eccentric wings,

         being still, like night,

         floating through

         the 12'' grass forest,

         waiting for the spider

         to prance from

         the silk purse mound

         and end the bee's

         suffered life.


2.     Men being fish faced,

         hideous like bull sharks,

         or Pisces,

         even though Pisces

         was merely

         a dewed web,

         collected by god

         so he can line

         white dust powder,

         into fire,

         and press his nose

         on the rim of Saturn

         to snort up

         fish stars.


3.     An addict of longing,

         of digging in the mud,

         looking for where

         it buried the bag

         of pill bottles,

         scissor snapped

         needles, and flowers,

         all sprouting from

         where the bee

         had rubbed his legs.


Lukas Hall is a poet, currently in the BFA Creative Writing program at Hamline University in Saint Paul, MN. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Aviary Review, East Jasmine Review, Rib Cage Literary Magazine, Mojave River Review, Apeiron Review and Souvenir Lit. He has also won the Patsy Lea Core Memorial Award in Creative Writing, for his poetry.