I figured that if I picked the dandelion
blossoming from the cavity of my heart
                              as I lay here a cadaver
                              in the body farm
                             harvesting the remnants

that if I let the wind catch the seeds
that I hold here in my skeletal hand
               maybe as the wind relocates me
               an oblivion just before Epiphany
         I won't be one black fist, grinding love into a fine meat paste

to be fed to the children of the harvest
they who have vulture's necks and crow's beaks
I hear them clawing at the doors
                  carrying fate inside their talons

according to my calculations
I was correct, watching the sunrise
drifting with the sunset

beneath my livid eyes
maggots emerge, tears for the turning earth
haunted love, my placenta feeding a rose bush

thorns pressed into my back, twining my spine

of my heart there will grow nothing simple
a nettle or better yet, a poisonous stalk
a hemlock or thistle

blooming in the autumn dusk
turn to see the moon murdered
by the ashes of my lust

--deathforgets ~ Copyright 2006--