pollen

\”…don\’t bite the hand that feeds you, it\’s said. I\’ll chew the f@cking digits off the first paw that rattles my cage.\” – ib Outside in the quadrangles bees hustle atop the daisies.     Jockey and drone. Inch and fart.     Strung out. Buzzing.     Pursuing the amber dust which underpins their shantytown.     I sit nursing the hole