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Poem

WE are kin of the soil

but dig with bare hands only what needed and no more

what are my bones function?

there is the answer but I am forbidden to give it

i am to swallow all this raw meat

and what if the meat is maggotous?

what if the meat is breast cancer?

what if the meat is smoke-polluted?

what if the meat is mold-riddled?

what if the meat is wet from someone else's ?

how am I to know the truth?

never will I know.

is this why no one else takes this thing seriously?

and what is covered with a bit of tar emriculated pavement -- 

not tarred but organic and tarless emriculated -- as my knees 

like lemons when I kneel on it -- I have nothing to fall down 

to lose so I kneel in her tireless, humid, viscous astringency -- 

and all the arteries of my body cry out with their own unique melody 

when I kneel to receive my fecund material gift from the dirt - 

and this body now crushed in this specific form is the very image 

of an ultimate answer to my continual dilemma of achieving what is 

defined and defined is that it's onewe are kin of the soil

:: 03.05.2022 ::

(*Onew Condition: the ability to freeze the atmosphere with a lame joke or gesture; to be 

excessively clumsy.)

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