MAGGOTS

By Weston Campbell

The birthing tube is tearing

in the mud, underground with the worms.

The fertilized ova are spilling

into furrows of virginal dirt.

Down where the scavengers wander,

in the haunt of the carrion-fed,

in silence, the queen is disgorging

her million glistening eggs.

The birds become aware

of the smell and the sound of the prey.

In a furious frenzy of feathers,

they descend on the writhing remains.

When the feast and the orgy have ended

they return to their cavernous halls

while the minuscule larvae remaining

curl up into quivering balls.

The night is clear, the air is

uncovered, fully bare to the eye.

Constellations are coalescing

into swarms in the infinite sky-

dancing in circular patterns

and singing oracular words,

then settling into their stations

to await the return of the birds.

#DarkPoetsClub