Worm Hands Poem by T.R. James Bray

Worm Hands

Rating: 4.0


Fruit ripens on the branch,
tempted back to the earth.
Fungi and insects eat yesterday, shit tomorrow.
Mushrooms link everything,
the trees converse.
Tides lap up on opposite shores
A zygotic connection.
My appreciation for connection intensifies
filtered through momma's rhythms and dripping sand.
the first I ever had.
Me, slurping amniotic high balls waiting to dance.
An endometrial wallflower.
Now, I sit in silence.
crossed legged in the sun.
Eyes closed to feel the sun's rays,
psychedelic flashes of blood light rage on my retina.
I breath in and out
to be more connected to my body.
A diffusive deal, one for one.
I curl over center, objectionably, louder, over years.
Blind I will be,
only darkness and the sense of warmth on my skin
the breeze in my face,
my back against a tree, bees buzzing to build.
I sense the sudden thud
of my ripe fruit landing on the ground
directly in front of me, as I reach
my hands are worms.

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Inevitable end of everything
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