Cynthia got some final warnings
Unexpected vomiting and weight loss
And her visitation by a clatter of angels
That made her food and her mind deteriorate
Like rotting fruit surrounded by yellow jackets
In the sunlight, under a tree.

The horns of absolution, Mr. Preston
That is what you hear, although they call it tinnitus
And tell you to not take aspirin;  people always seem
To know what makes things worse, don’t they?
Like the hum of yellow jackets discovering root beer
And you abandon your glass and go into the house.

Sincerely, I wrote Doctor Emil a love letter
I tried to explain that the noise of everything
Is that cupidity from distance caused
By our inability to draw desire from memory
Like the gratification of directing a sharp stream
Of water at a nest of yellow jackets.