What Worms? Poem by RIC BASTASA

the strings of the violin are tightened, i guess in your mind
a hole deepens on a distortion, it seeps right through your teeth
gritting the devil's wisdom, and never stops vibrating inside your brain

and from your chair
all the faces of the trees seemed so thirsty
with an unbearable misconception


from where they stand, you seemed so far away
silent, and introverted and praying

in truth you were a frog inside croaking
praying for the rain
and you plunge deeper inside your heart
until you tasted pungent blood
and talked with the ruling worms that loneliness breeds