your daughter is infected;
writhing as she sleeps in too-thin-skin,
afraid the already permeable peach might catch,
impaled by some night terror
inching out under her eardrums and eyelids.
any other orifice blackened with rot,
and skin crawling with creeping creatures, cutting comfortable
dugouts and sleeping quarters in her heels,
beginning to pull and tear as
one-by-one pests patrolled her leg bones.
cauldron of guts, blood, oil, trouble and toil,
stirred to churn, to gurgle;
Out from up her hip bones the maggots marched,
All her demons expurgated,
Slithering out and flicking forked tails,
Winking kisses with blind eyes