insect-headed

while perfecting Eden
with poisons,
smiling my ambush smile,
my own flesh hit me.
a soft concussion.
I went down.
buried my wet nose
in a real bug's nest.
in the dried weeds,
crackling twigs
scattered nuts
and fading leaves.
where curious pests
exposed roots
and scrambled seeds.
drugged with sweetness,
I could have slept down there.
caterpillars,
spiders and flies
steal away my brains
and being
naturally fond of worms,
I crawl underground,
burrowing,
wandering deadpan,
chewing on the succulent pulp
of the heart of the matter,
on some poet's spore.