I was in a workshop and our exercise was just to write some words based on a strange painting of crows, horses, and bees.
A horse is a horse until it’s not of course.
A crow could be a raven when it’s wearing a hat.
Bees don’t buzz if they’re dipped in red paint, but they leave angry streaks on the walls.
A horse can do math up to 168 and can learn their letters up to a, b, c, d.
Crows become penguins with the right colour beak. Their bodies grow and shrink and shriek and flow.
Bees are flowers if you can’t see their wings, a stinging criticism of your inability to perceive what’s real and not.
Horses don’t eat crow, even when they’re ashamed, but crows will eat horse if someone else does the cooking.
Bees are only bees until they become a poem and you are only you if you write it yourself.