Poem: The Frog and the Forest of Corpses


Feeling upset but enlightened

I allow myself to die

As I rot and decay before the blossoming plants of Summer

I perform self-surgery

Cutting off, and stripping away

All those parts that no longer serve me

My skin will become no more consistent

Than mist and foam

As my hair dances above my head

A torrent of spiraling lightening

Every crackle and spark

Is a concatenation of fractals

And the corpse in the cupboard

Will dismember itself

Before the butcher arrives

It really is quite a thing

To be your own lobotomist

Pulling out neurons and cortices

Like frayed electrical wires

All so that I can sit on my lily pad

And keep heaven within croaking distance

And eat a few lazy flies

As the sun goes down

The Frog and the Forest of Corpses

Is a name that will be forgotten and remembered

In the most mysterious and confusing of times


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