Six-legged Mammon
The bee’s bright trove refracts, hones no rainbow.
Midas’s cup is not a prism. Only one
Greedy color comes from it. Strain, stain, glow–
Wealth. That’s it. Maybe momentary fun
Shines out, but mostly it’s just jealousy
This heavy metal magnet stickily
Attracts. The priestesses at Delphi see
A sun dyed future, spoken trickily,
With shadowed undertones and meanings. Hush!
Why not be blissful with such nectars first
Vacuumed by that tongue, let light liquid gush
Like crystal, allow other tints to burst?
The gilded, black banded creatures have wings
But carry shiny dark’s barbed venom stings.