The cigarette bud is crushed
Into the creases
Of rotten Would.
I can see my face
Resembled in the ash
And know we are
One and the same.
Though I more closely
Imitate the insect.
Rummaging through cadavers,
Squirming boils burst
at their own
volition
Dug deep into the earth
To taste the red hot
Of my species
Under so much weight,
I begin the great ascent
Knowing it’s likely
I’ll never see
The green surface.
It’d be easier to accept death,
But what’s the point
Of a bug like that.
Wonderful poem. Best one I have read today–and I read a bunch!
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Thank you so much! Just out of curiosity, who are your favorite poets? Any contemporary gems?
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I
Like
ee
Cummings.
Been reading Neruda lately.
And back to Bukowski. I read lot of poetry on wordpress. Yours is top shelf.
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Jesus. That really means a lot, those names really resonate. Neruda will give ya chills and Bukwoski is a genre in himself. I’ve been procrastinating, but this was just the encouragement I needed. Thank you.
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