this mouth drowns itself.
eats itself. recognizes
Something growing and shaking,
Something shining,
Something kind and deadly
moving through the fibrous hand,
splitting where it can,
taking root in the stockpile,
finding footing, then nothing,
then bed, the rock bed.
feasting on minerals, still growing,
settling down, won’t move,
protruding, protracting, snapping back,
hating its mother, spilling over
the sides until the
bath floats to the top soaked
in sweet, sinewed fertilizer,
sprouting nippling buds.
He moves beyond that marbled skin,
He coils himself around four cleft feet,
He sanitizes every side with pecking kisses.
Oh, the mess he's made!
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About the Creator
Hannah Dulaney
Part time poet. Asks too many questions. @oh.hannah on instagram
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