Floating in the Hive

What is the sound I hear coming through in quick waves?

The drone of a blade chopping up the air into real estate for chatter

Tiny patterns of rise and fall are out there,

I can feel them hit the skin before ears pick up on the inevitable shudder

I smile with eyes wide open and hide

The miniature storm circulating within me amidst all of this “advice”

My preferences are set to maintain a silence,

Letting others’ words pass on through like a stream of particles

Everything is lower now, a man must be talking,

My nods turn into a pumpjack to get through his discourse on me

Here comes another volume he calls his history,

It fuzzes like all the others to find a spot in the background radiation

Ben Nardolilli is a scrivener. His work has appeared in Door Is a Jar, The Delmarva Review, Red Fez, Quail Bell Magazine, and Slab. Follow his publishing journey at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.