Tuesday, February 24, 2009


Cryptic thoughts encroach upon the crazed
Set the stage.
Create appeal,
and reel them in.
Visualize rivers, pastoral scenes
and grazing animals, a bird in the sky.
It whizzes through my view.
The tang and musk of death enters the air
peaks this ten year old mind.
Escalating to putrid as I near,
The corpse is old enough to scarcely interest the flies.
Hollow and concave
the death juices no longer filling the corpse
slurped up by flies in days gone by.
Two yellow jackets and a few small shiny beetles
dine on the near dry leftovers
I look back to the pastoral scene
putrid air in my nostrils
I walk away with intrigue in my mind
I return retracing the path I took
to get to the corpse
The air carries the rot
guiding me along
wafting stronger at times
I view pasture
forcing peace in my eyes
rot in the air
I view pasture
this view is a lie
I view pasture
fighting the view in my mind.
I view pasture.

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