Drinking the Buddha

I don’t recognize the frightened drowning bee until the cup hits my lips. I instantly spit it out, and it slinks off, out of sight somewhere, presumably to die without causing me any more discomfort. Righteous guy like that, dying the way it had lived, in kindness and duty.

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Franklyn Monk

Poet. Geek. Science fiction aficionado. General freak.
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