Oct/Nov 2004 • Poetry • Special Feature |
Down Below
Rhubarb leaves repel
rampant nettles' claim on living space.Below those broad, photo-chemical factory plates,
black earth, still damp, musty, cool to cheek,while the ear strains across
sub-terra's frontier.Beetle-scuttle down crevasse,
periodic slither of the worm which bars its path,interminable as a Sante Fe freight.
Bacteria's babel-babble as they munch detritus,pool their excretions. Roots drive down,
subsonic micro-thunder from the race to food.Prone body aches
for underworld's long, slow,pulse.