The Drop | POEM

Wasps are dropping from the kitchen ceiling lights, seemingly having forgotten how to fly. They fall to the table or floor, where they crawl slightly. Despite the lack of a clear entry point, they struggle to come through, casting shadows as they crawl over the lights. Above the lights, they appear to queue, unaware that their descent leads only to the floor, where they are not welcomed. They are brushed away or stepped on, yet more wasps continue to drop, undeterred by the sound of others being crushed. Even the noise of landing on paper doesn't serve as a warning, and the wasps persist in their descent.

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