Other Than Body Poem by OWEN I.A. ROCHE

Other than body of woman,
the grace of wine
and words that leap between minds,

is stasis only, unhuman;
in disciplined line
the days would stretch to gray death.

Heroes and ants, you may grovel
before the grubs
that feed to breed the new slaves,

who obediently will shovel
a hole for me
among your similar graves.