Tummy Rot


My stomach is sick,

and rotting

In my mind’s eye it pulses green

A putrid pain color

And turns somersaults

through thick molasses

Grinding up against the walls of my heart

My heart doesn’t break,

My stomach rots




There is an infinite beauty in living,

Breathing and listening

To the rhythm of the earth…


Artists merely tap into this haunting melody

And make vacuous shadows of the real

Beat that echoes


And curdles the blood of men and women

And sounds through the dreams of kings

The symphony


Of a sunset, the stattaco beat of the heart

As the body heats from a kiss

The music that roars


Soundlessly through the universe

The scale the world revolves in

With moans


Of the seasons, typhoons and dust bowls

Of the worlds pain and joy

The rumbles


Of a stampeding group of elephants

Charging the nearby store for bargain prices

And the percussion


Of the incessant tapping in class as the teachers

Drone on endlessly, the rhythm monotonous and

Overbearingly slow


Like the heartbeat of a great whale as it moans

Its sad song to the world, the sound vibrating through

The ocean wide, sonorous


The cry of a parent that outlived their child

Wild and aching, a piercing pain, sharper than the

Shriek of


Of pain as a teeth is uprooted and tossed


In it all.

There is beauty.