“Suddenly, every person in the world can visibly see a thread that connects them with their significant other. On hearing this, you realize that you don’t have a thread connecting to anyone.”

All these wrinkling villagers, touching animosity

on their quilted threads of indelible fantasy,

thinking that I could withstand their forever stillness.

I can’t drag my skin

to their groves of pandering love,

because my life is free, no need

for needling bees and frothing wasps.

The sealed fashions bubble blonde:

bouncing their bootleg webs

as I twist their knots into a passing laugh.

Still, the colony limited to tied strings,

not the honey-thrum of the wild

which whets my distinction, there-

my appetite for a threadless existence.