From Maggot to Fly

apple-23484_960_720.png

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.

Writhing in Tepid Streams

wooden-figures-1007134_960_720.jpg

Hell bound Hounds

We’ve found

we’ve drowned

Could the sea

Wash more away

Than sin?

More than body and soul?

So unassuming,

So indifferent.

Maybe the secret to the pursuit,

Is in the changing tide

Unsure of what’s to be.

Sacrificed for this brittle end,

But with laces tied

And eyes covered

I walk.