On Thinking Upon Worms

Oh Worm,
residing in dirt,
chewing life in a toothless mouth,
excreting pellet remains.


(An owl of a mouse,
sinew entwined with bone, ovals of indigestible waste:
Death Wreathes.)



Your trace,
compacts into tunnels,
surface to bedrock.
No eyes to see
no ears to hear
just vibrations of terror-
the mole victorious!




Oh Worm!
death surrounds you,
above,
below,
your suicide on cement,
your protracted body,
noose-like in death,
a sodden spasm.


The silence in thunder
and the whimper of lightening.


O Death, you worm,
you litter my path.
I dodge your corpses,

I tip toe
around your limp remains.
Ignore the fossil prints,
etched on cement.
You are everywhere I look.


You are the worm in gall,

the absinthe:
green death in carpets above.
The wormwood of dirt,
pattering the bronze,
dimming the lights,
making passages through bone.


Oh Worm!
Compost my body!
Make soil of my remains!
My breath, fleet feet,
you cannot catch,
coalesces in the heavens!

For all I am is dirt on earth
and breath in heaven above.

The rain that drives
to drown
lays on  amalgamated
surface,
the leachate formed by body and water,
rebirthing.

Oh Worm!  Oh Death!
Fear not thy grave!

Here

Here,

this node,

this unit,

this vertex,

“featureless and indivisible”,

exists in a space

as Word Spoken.

Word,

assembles the bones,

lifeless in dust.

Prophecy in a gasp,

“Speak!”

commands the Breath.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Rattle the bone chimes!

Cacophony of armies rising…

 Cognitive Dissonance

of bone on bone,

flesh on flesh,

risen but not alive.

The prophecy of promise:

“We will not stay slain.”

Word in a node,

a unit,

indivisible,

3 yet one,

the breath the edge,

intersects

a bone,

becomes the two edge sword

cutting the debris of dead

from the branches of flesh.

In His Breath,

His I Am,

I live.

Fire flamed by the Paraclete.

From dirt, to body, to blood, to water,

a Chronos moment in a Kairos time,

flaying dead speech to life.

I am dead.

Grimy bones

in depressed  earth.

Lifeless in my mother’s womb

dead weight in my father’s arms.

The silence stretches from earth to heaven,

a vapor barrier

whispered in space.

The vacuum breached in birth,

Conceived in a garden,

hovering over edges.