HIS MAJESTY, THE MAGGOT

 

Rational words rot

beside Death's divinity

and delusion.

Truth  triangulates with a Jack-O'-Lantern's knife,

carving bloody eye sockets out of reason.

 

With auto-erotic passion,

we devour each other ravenously

with an unquenchable appetite

for despair.

 

Yet...

still, we  cling tightly

to the underbelly of the Milkyway.

Tickling the crotch of Heaven;

pleading for a scratch from God.

 

And it is from here

that we wait out our lives,

laying more eggs

in a cosmic manure pile.

 

 

“Bud” E. Lewis Evans (c) 2000  (aka "Rainfish")