Blind Shoot

Men and women Wandering between Womb and tunnelled-light, Inspecting colourless moths, With their insipid wings And propensity for flame- They comment on the important Insipid, isolated-insects, They do the same for me I, the piece of clover, Green, shapeless without Flower, I, important for bees, The busy pattern-obsessed bees, But how can that be For I am flowerless...