Poetry

June 9, 2016 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

By

Wesley D. Gray

 

 

Eartheaters

 

 

She sustains parasites in paradise,

but they hunger beyond her means with swarming-tribe vibrations

that rattle her tendril, living flesh, as they ravage the wells of her breath.

 

With molten machines and ice-glinting instruments,

they cleave her hollow reaches, splay the sweetness of her softest places

to scrape the tender things that sleep below her belly.

 

They blast the features off her faces,

crunch her teeth and grind her skulls, pierce her skin with tubes indwelling,

slurp and gurgle onyx blood in their toasts to rituals of ascension.

 

They take her nude and in the raw, and in her feasts they revel.

They crave the delicacy of her bones, slurp the haunches of her marrow.

 

They sew lost relics into the holes, of newborns, nostrils, and navels;

embed their kills in jeweled debris, adorning flesh in fillets of her children.

 

Her waters used to stream, crisp like razor lakes of crystal,

but they pumped the ocean of her mouth with their plaques of festering ruin.

 

They’ll suffocate before they choke, chewing bits of jade from lung.

And as I gasp for faded breath, I hear her scream and hold my tongue,

for I am one, and just as they, her lifeblood feeds my hungers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Teeth and Stone

 

 

We are teeth; we are bone.

We are flesh; we are stone.

We’re saddle-stitched up through our bellies,

innards bleached like buried jellies.

 

Our purses bulge like pregnant sows

bought with silver city vows.

Our sacks hold ash and brimstone;

tongues will dance on rants and rhinestone.

 

Our eyes will pop in crimson lipstick,

skull-crossed legs and hardened dipsticks.

Our emotions bleed into our ears;

spines will shrivel with our fears.

 

We’re lost in tribes, caught in vibes,

and swept away on stranger tides.

Our hearts are blisters in the heat;

throats will coat in richer meat.

 

Our flesh is grit; our tears are rain.

Our souls are wind; our greed is pain.

We are teeth, we are bone.

We are flesh and we are stone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wesley D. Gray

Wesley D. Gray is a writer, an author of fiction, and a poet. He is the author of Come Fly with Death: Poems Inspired by the Artwork of Zdzislaw Beksinski, among other things. When he isn’t writing, Wesley enjoys a wide variety of geeky activities, but mostly, tabletop gaming with family and friends. He resides in Florida with his wife and two children. Learn more at: WesDGray.com.

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