Earth

Earth, where the worms live,
Begin the holes in the body.

Worms prepare eternity for me.

I've dressed for that dirt.

The words in life I've used

Sometimes have bruised

So like fruit words are rotten oranges.

I've picked at the orbit of the oranges.

Once, the gravity of it was delicious.

Poetry wasn't music.

Back then worms wouldn't listen.

Now they are hung on every word.

Once, the gravity of this is delicious.

If I'm nested in the Mother

That Mother is heaven

And I'm at home on her 

And it was life that was the delusion.

Does night allow after light is shut out?

Was God?