I feed on words like yours, and hers.
Unsated by the common truth
of my own heart, nor willing
to send even the cage
with its canary down,
I spice the stolen rhymes with sage
and play the canto clown.
Forgotten earthworm. Pity me.
I crawl across the bellies of
the unsuspecting dead,
looking for wet and pungent holes
with which to rape my way inside,
and claim a right to speak of souls.