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The Carcass Brian Dickson Baudelaire, your poem is writhing this afternoon, the dog in bed with me, bloat of worms, maggots, flies, a whir in the air. On the other side, your lover easing onto the mattress, daydreaming of the walk. Underneath the bed, a kitten found in an oak tree with locusts’ blaring. To hear its meow, the zzzzz of insects, low crinkle of nightcrawlers, larvae shimmering in my ear–what would you say on a stroll to this room? Speak of devotion, let the soil and gods know. |
Photo by Ron Szlata