The only place I can bemyself is six feet under -with the worms those nasty little things,orange segment sacs jammedwith goo and muck. We’ll lay there, their rumand crooked bodies, slick withmucus, interlaced with my fingers,nestled in my neck, cradledin my arms. I’ll let them nuzzle intomy body for as long as they want,feeling their membranous foldsdigesting deeper … [Read more...] about The Worms, By: Christabell DeMichele
Like A Baby Bird, I Was Born In The Spring, By: Christabell DeMichele
When the Earth's axis tilts me towards the sunand daylight drives me from my sweet dreams,when the soil I stand on softens under meand the fresh mud snares my every step,when hatchling swans sing their fated bird songsand fill my ears with their syncopated screams, I will walk across every meadow,snatching the budding bulbs of springtime up by their roots,so the Earth is too … [Read more...] about Like A Baby Bird, I Was Born In The Spring, By: Christabell DeMichele