Carted off to who-hears paths
doubly deep of our weathers.
Keeping armfuls of guts from
spilling, un-wed worms uncoiling
for their native soils.
Saying loudly our slippery peaces...
to break with surface light.
To trade ravings hinged on absence,
moistly noodling context in place.
Freakishly conducive to metabolizing
the essence of otherness.