Lizzy Burnam 🐞

The runners: The ones who know what it means 
to leave and do it anyway, smoking 

each other out of their hives like the bees, 
and the bee keeper, and the bee keeper’s 

wife. The ones who devoured the honey
and set fire to the honeycomb, blind 

with desire—for more, yes, but also 
for less. The buzz behind their ears never 

nearing their brains. The ones who‘ve seen sirens 
set the atmosphere ablaze, who instead 

of smothering the flame, strangled the view 
with the laces of their new yellow shoes.