Dipped in Liquid Nitrogen cold,
Your head peels like a lychee,
In my tweezers your brain I hold,
The Apis mellifera of our taxonomy.

Your symbolic language of waggle and dance,
The alluring circles of your hunger’s trance,
Set on a stage of honeycomb,
What setting for a dance could be sweeter.

In your vision trichromatic,
Horizontal Lines,
Won’t fool your eyes.

A biological network of society’s rule,
Of epigenetic interaction,
Of undiscovered depths.

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