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New Moon
apple cores bifurcated
maggoty realms
spilled over
long stems bled
a sluggish
green insemination
toward evening
small apes gathered
to scream at the
new moon
there were bones
to be split,
marrow to be scraped out
with stone spearheads
it was not the beginning
nor even the
end of the beginning
swamp waters
still bubbled up a choking miasma
of stale fertility
yet some
hunted a muddy earth
knuckles walking
a few agile brains
grew more alert
to upright visions
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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