I had a six pack once but then the fat grew in,
like moss over the body of a doe.

I swear to the forest creatures I existed before my beard.
but they just keep eating grass with glass eyes
that I want to poke at to hear what sound my fingernails make,
but I don’t want to betray my moral culpability

to love all things.

so i take the scripture literally;
and with corduroys on my ankles,
spread my seed into the pine-needles
hoping to make them live again,
to ensure that the womb of my creations
outpaces the receding of my hair and skin

but endorphins are no match for the pornography guilt
of seeing the nakedness of a rotting corpse
new colors quilted, new bodies grafted

new moon over arcadia.

and when the punch comes,
at least i have enough fat to absorb it.
Hmmmm. Sardonic and morbid? I like.

"Success is as dangerous as failure. Hope is as hollow as fear." - from Tao Te Ching