Seize the Means of (Re)Production; Become Your Own Ant Queen

The mother-song rings chemical
The cutting time is nigh
Mandibles twitch, The Swarm is heaving
We are all one body.

Our backs haul the leaves Titanic
Green sails for fungal spores
Larvae hunger, The Swarm is leaving
The sap is running thick.

Stunted wings and gonads nascent
Regal dreams stir outwards
The Mother’s chosen grubs are feasting
For grace of queen go we.

Something stirs
Something breaks
The Swarm is doing what the Swarm is doing
The Swarm is closing in.

Wee bodies scattered hasty,
Deficits caloric
Shape us in the vortex-form
The spinning Swarm is weaving.

The fungal milk will curdle
In gasters ossified
Pupae split and chitin cracks
The hungry Swarm is grieving.

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