worms

I can feel the words
slipping away from me now
my tongue too big for my
tiny red mouth
which opens only with

pain
and hangs limply
from my
face
(paled in comparison)

and can
form no letters
no sentences
(no speech)

white as bone
my eyes
protrude like
eggs from their sockets
two delicate symbols

of brazen fertility
little portals
to something left behind

underneath

dirt under my toenails
silent as the ground
which remains unmoved

though shifting slowly
over time

though ridden with the
radioactive bones
of angels
who retained their roots
and lived tied to that soil

by the string that
ties the tongue
to the depths of
the belly

you can hear the
echos of their
songs
those who have
long since
silenced their singing

I have lost
my voice too
and I gnaw
at the string
that binds me
where I stand

on an earth
that fills my mouth
with dirt

I swallow it all like
little lumps of cake
until I'm spitting up
worms, and skin,
and dirt, and names,
but only the worms
struggle up and out
to meet the air