A Life In the Soil
a spineless mass meandering
through tubular tracks
of the soil.
great antennae towards the sky
pointing in search perennial.
in wait without end
for some great and weird frequency
to register, to be able to respond to.
the pupa of a dead insect
enclosed in dark chrysalis
rusty like abandoned iron.
the deep redness
of dried blood
stain it until it has become
beautified through evolving.
i am the worm.
i turn dead muck into humus.
such is life in the soil.
Copyright © The End Commune | Year Posted 2021
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