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SELF-PORTRAIT WITH A SWARM OF BEES

a moment ago i wore at best a fuzz
around my chin and lips; but now my beard
is growing and seething i might even pass
for magdalena: all my face hirsute

with bees. how they come buzzing from every side,
and, ounce by ounce, how a person's being

slowly but steadily gains in weight and spread
to become the stone-still centre of song . . .

my arms outstretched i bear a resemblance
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