Poem: Phalloides

 

Phalloides

 

death angels in pale cowls

preside over a feast

of crumble and decay,

 

and i wonder

on these fleshy bald thugs,

cudgel-like as condyles,

 

how they lord so young and brash,

basking in wind,

 

as autumn buries

the greying carrion of summer,

aimless as a cold gravedigger.

 

the only excuse the death angels need

to batten on the fallen

and prophesy snow.

===================================

 

6/30/24