To the soil’s maw from man

As his organs withdraw
from the winter of his limbs
never again timed touch to pivot
on others soft or tensed like wood
electric nearly & grounded
on his rubber he wonders
hand to whisker where goes
all his sweat once off?
To his toes or inside
through motherless unclothed
skin itself slipping off
toward the light of the sun
warmer than this breathing tomb.
The worms in his bones
once timid turn assert
& butcher outward
with the rest of him
to the calling sun’s face
& lurch from his marrow
into the ground’s gullet
wide and frothing as the rest of it.


~ by Jeremy on June 9, 2010.

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