The worm-
a flow of fleshone foot long
woven into a tube
accordion-like
stretching and contracting
inch by inch
where earth at its depth
is pregnant with life
more varied than the air holds,
it gnaws, cutting slits
so that what is draped below
in darkness and dirt
could savor light, water and air
and get their negative sides curated.
Rejuvenated,
they haul themselves up by roots
to climb to the sunlit land
with basketful of bloom
for tomorrow to groom
for the still unborn to consume.
It cares not if the work of existence
devours its own unfolding,
it performs its task
of carrying life forward
by an endless cycle of rearrangement
while even its waste
improves the taste
of every cabbage
made of garbage
no matter if the farmer
upgrades his yield
by wormicide.
Poetry by yoonoos peerbocus
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Written on 2026-06-22 at 01:28
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