Poets spread words so thin in mine eyes,
Are they all about the times that they
Win into love and belch wanton sighs?
I write of viscera.
I write of viscera.
I write of viscera.
Transfixed and fissural, entrapped inside
Of a hundred-so fingers twisting up inside
An epithelium epic, a weeping white cyst,
Gestated within a developing sight inside
A fibrous palate, growing keratin inside
The bones of old jaws shaken off trees,
Grown from denying the death of god.

——
#poetry #poem #horror