The webs in which I sit and count the angles,
Stitch to stitch,
Surround and tangle.
Sitting, mangled, recently deceased,
I recognize my body how
A calf is noticed by a modern cow
On tubes and harness
And living wired for the betterment all of mankind.
Any minute, a tooth will spill my dreams,
The ones I ate for breakfast
With no regard for added sugars,
Into soup.
To realize you’re paralyzed and waiting to be preyed upon.
Here is my neck for the afternoon.
Here is my faith in God.
Turn out my wallet.
Draw a surgical path from the base of my spine
And slide
Your tool until a pair of wings erupt.
You will feast on spinal fluid or I shall fly away.
Stitch to stitch,
Hours in a holding pattern,
Holding hours like breath
Tighter than a crushed esophagus,
Draining the finest shades of red into a waiting mouth
Until the best of me shrivels
Like a nature snack
For lean, proactive feeding.
April 18th, 2019
The Favoring Wind 