stick my fork
deep into ground
how many worms
will I ever find
how many broken promises
could I unearth
what lies will I have found
shove hours of stipulated work
deep in eroded tunnels and caves
what might corroded time rebirth
rakish works of rare fiction
slated prayers that seem profound
what dilated terms
will finally resurface
could inflated segments
those ill begotten remnants
ever be good or kind
reactivate my failing mind
regale and shower me
with cosmic affiliation
what if resilient Annelida
osmotically revealed
some universal station
perhaps creative worms I find
will reveal integral sound
portions of my segmented soul
lies and broken promises
tragically concealing
that disproportionate find
what if composted ground
buries all my latent fears
what if turgid tears washed deeper
recovering completely
scores of gripping love songs
recitations of fulfilling poems
bibles of rectified words
written beside creek beds and streams
bidden with dream filled tears
blow insipid life
into some other cryptic realm
would those worms I found
tunnel through time
retrieve my work and feeling fork
what about those steely prongs
what about resuming rhythm
joined by crooning rhyme
lies and broken promises
surely can't fix conflicting wrongs
I tried bending over backwards
I had unending awkward thoughts
plowing through amending storms
I've been free falling
residually moiling
beside every encrypted pledge
trying to recover foiled love
meanwhile my tuning fork
exposes attuning galaxies of sorry
what if nonfiction arrived
dredging up another fraction of deceit
reciting contractions of insatiable fury
should factions of actual worms
rule our judgemental lives
or are instrumental dreams
simply guided by grounding time
caught up with broken promises
fraught with lies and disdainful furry
segmented worms and digging forks
simply interpolating mounds of grime

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