Warm Worm
Moss-heavy limbs fall from charge
of a warm southern wind
rest in a compost graveyard
of other arms that have been
Once boasted of leaves
awarded with weighted sog
You might pray if awarded knees
The warm low water releases a fog
Time will turn you into swamps breath
and a story told around the table
As the matted hair of a beggars sets
as sure you’ll become a fable
Draw out the white worm that hides in the gut
with a warm bowl of cream
Demand it to uncoil from the inner glut
the foreign body within a scream
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~By Shannon Laws
