Took a bit of a break after NaPoWriMo. Probably won't be posting every day, and it won't always be poetry when I do. But for now, here's a new heteronym poem.
Alchemic Text, Ostario MS C-34
Much can of mulch be maddened or made.
A life stirs at the bottom of the compost pot, a grub
spontaneously generated to be the soul of the hole
under a stewed red moon when Pewter is in retrograde.
A boy of kindergarten at recess runs
across the fleeing ground. Will it ever escape him?
Somewhere a grackle guts a chipmunk. Somewhere
jazz sends a violin sounds.
Bones splinter, skin rips, organs ail, lovers sail
away. Mind adapts, moves over, makes room for the world
just come in. Moldy tomatoes, splotched spuds,
dead lettuce, liquifying, shift aside for the grub,
larval agent of finitude, compositor of
HEY WHAT'S THIS CHICKEN FAT DOING HERE?
The grub spews a cocoon around everything but itself.
The boy hands on knees stands panting within it.
-- Basil Cartryte