From Maggot to Fly


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



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.

Dry Cough


Smoking, Cigarette, Smoke, Unhealthy, Cigar, Addiction

Charcoal lungs



on another’s


splitting spliffs

like decalcified pine bones

but the nausea overwhelms

and I rock to the breeze on my back porch

the cold shearing years

off my life,

carbon monoxide

turning my marrow brown