Satan doesn’t have to come to me. I’ll go to him.
I expect to see him: waiting, massive,
writhing.
I am too impatient for the bottle.
I chew through pure blue agave,
greedy for the gusano.
Buffeted by protein, elixired, armored,
I am prepared for him, machete in one hand,
jar in the other.
This is the fly nest that grew in his chest,
Beelzebub heart, bottle-green.
It takes an insect heart to catch an insect heart.
No one will believe me. I will die an old drunk
with my artifacts and curios. But when they bury me,
I will return, a hero, to the worms.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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No longer do I partake.
However in my past I had more than my share. I feel it is everyones choice but I had to put it down. I was to impatient for the bottle. I felt I was heading in that direction all too quickly. It wouldn't surprise me for there to be much more to this poem than what I get out of it. But when it's all said and done we live our lives however we feel we must. In the end we all return to the earth to feed the worms.
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One (pseudo)word: fanfuckingtastic.
This is reminiscent of an evening spent with cousins on my porch after their return from Mexico. They were too silly to eat the worm and my mother did not let me so we buried it in the garden. The flowers have pretty colors now :-)
I'm always delighted by your work (as well you know!) and this is no exception. Cheers, Lauren!
Nenni
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Oroboros Is A Worm!
Been waxing most prodigal of late I´m afraid, dear Pie, but am compelled to comment on mescal-derived libation here.
"Satan doesn’t have to come to me. I’ll go to him."
Now ain´t that the truth in an almost universal sense. We stumble in pursuit of the things least efficacious for the well-being of our hearts and minds (not to mention livers!).
"I am prepared for him, machete in one hand,
jar in the other."
Why is it I receive the distorted image of "enfant-inebriate" Bukovsky overlayed with an umbra of Indiana Jones?
Why? You know why, Sneaky Pie!
And whichever wormhole or segmented-circle-of-laughs you end up poking your profound proboscis down Lauren, I shall be there, in spirit at least, to cheer you on: a hero to this particular worm.
gG
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Yah!!!...
And that's from the heart of gusano country where there's a mescal shop or two on every block. They even tie a small bag of chile pepper and salt mix around the neck of the bottle. A kindly lady just outside the door has the limes. That stuff will steer you right. Cheers, MJ -
that was brilliant.. Great job.
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Absolutely fucking excellent!
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Cheers, John! And bottoms up.
XOXO,
Lauren
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