And here in the glom of light, the beam of failure, it is known that worms and maggots eat more than the starved, they’re alone, except when accompanied by growling. Any rumble will soon be gone when the onsets of silence crawl over their breasts and mouths and bellies like worms or maggots feasting on gruesome delight. They might be standing still like bland road signs marking off a cautionary through-way or indicating grave danger ahead when the worms make their way in like a marching band and emptiness bows, hunger commencing a final dance. Or they might be lying down upon one another’s screams while the eager maggots dig in like ill-mannered guests. And here in the glom of light, the beam of failure, it is known. © 2009 mrp/thepoetryman
(The Weaver's Song)