by Taylor Hartson

they say that coiling, slithering perennial vines have
overtaken the south. that between rooting stolons and
stemming rhizomes lie writhing knots of snakes, breeding
between noxious weeds. that as their vines wind around
scarlet oak and shortleaf pine, they quickly constrict the
veins inside, squeezing out every last drop of water,
sunlight, life.
between lethal shoots, the bees
tesselate their homes with
purple honey