Poem: Beneath

 

Beneath

 

human faces share ancestry

with imps that feast on tepid meat,

 

and what goes on beneath 

is often rotten:

 

dull appraisals, meek thoughts,

festering inside a cranium

to spark then fall moribund.

we are tureens full of nothingness

who slosh on stilt legs like zombies.

 

 and yet our cheeks  ... 

so fidgety

stretch unhappy as sun-bathed nightcrawlers

swiveling on racks of staggering bone.

 

how much different

in our squirm of expression are we

really

than the obligatory task 

of maggots?

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9/21/25 .. exceedingly awful poem

1/29/24 .... mods

10/12 ... fixed grammar error

Terrible time for our country, add my own heath woes, and now job troubles.   It's a cruel planet most of the time for most people.  I suppose it's possible to be lucky, but only if you close your mind to what's beneath.