I am alone tonight
in the dimly lit
house, not unlike
one Rochester would have chosen-
with windows frozen shut

uptight like his heart
resist, fists clenched
stand firm- march toward
the line - the line which
stands firms despite,

Despite logic they march
row by row- READY

step by step

AIM

shoulders tight, eyes focused
In this moment what
what do you think of--
do you think of all the mouths
you have kissed, warm, wet tongues

Searching, searching for solace, for
comfort, for sticky sweet sex -
for one hot fuck, for tenderness
for love

And now
on the eve of fire, of the resounding
burst
of the beginning
of the end, of the
next chapter

Do you pause?
Do you think?
Is it worth it?
Do you waiver in your commitment,
as you did once before?

Does your finger reverently graze the trigger, like it did my clit
longing to pull back,
but does your heart hesitate?
Do you take a breath? Take stock, of the trail of
litter behind you?

Broken bits of the march, wrappers
slick with sticky bits of DNA, an appetizer for the worms.

Worms, who search the earth
like cold wet tongues seeking
garbage, rich sweet organic matter and flesh
to devour
to process
to secrete like shit
reclaiming the profane
and cleansing it pure.

The honorable worm, lowly but
with purpose
the glib tongue, exalted
and yet dirty and profane.
Swallowing and processing rotting flesh
sucked in one mouth and
expelled out the other,
packed and loose
pure and fertile once more.

Seduced by wriggling tongues
licked sticky, lapped at and enslaved
and then consumed
swallowed whole
digested and spewed out
like disgusting, diseased, rotten flesh
into the twilight.

The tongue which once pleased
shredded - left for dead.
A tongue, like those worms
which sought morsels of succulence
shit out what failed to please.

Do you pause or perhaps now I should
say did you- for the span of time between AIM and FIRE is but
a breath
a pause of the heart
that moment between anticipation, ecstasy
and the spew of sperm,
the wriggling bearers of life
slingshot
through the narrow passage, shot forth
like firm, determined worms
blind and helpless,
hailstorm of bullets,
determined and true.

The irony, dear Sir
life begins
with dancing worms
and ends with
a feasting of worms.
Fertile ground
tilled and plundered,
blood slick
coated and rich.

Your tongue
I remember your slick tongue,
trails of saliva down my creamy neck
over the berries of my breast,
down to the sugared, salty, spicy richness of
my core.
Slick smooth talking tongue
telling my ears
what my heart wanted to believe--
but my mind, never-mind
logic
onward you march
yard after yard
inch after inch
driving home, firmly entrenched
to that place,
in the field
to the corrupt reflection
creatures of opposition.

Lines of believers,
creatures of duty,
worm food.
"Tis my duty! You couldn't
possibly know of duty!"
Here, here,
to God and country.

Oh what fools we were.
and now you bleed into
the darkening theater
and I,
I bleed no more.
Tiny rooms, a coffin-
closed up country house
wide open meadow
the scene of a battle
an oasis for now.

As worms invade your flesh
setting up camp
in the cradle of your hallow
pelvis
Gasping and gurgling
in ecstasy
recalling my cries
as your worms
raced to my bloody field
plundering me.

No fortress is impenetrable
and no one knows
until it is upon them
the agony of life
which mirrors death.

FIRE

And life
the ravaging heart
of the forest, touched
by lightening
in a blaze of unintelligible screams
descends a madness.
A madness of our own
a madness we willfully
sought.

In your madness
the worms claim
your body
returning it to dust.

In mine,
In mine I encapsulate
if but for a time
the fire of life.

And when my blood spills
ripped from me
will be the
breathing proof
of hearts afire.
Life left by
your
Fire.