Omer 20 - mycelium

I cannot find my head.

Nothing and everything goes together,

a mosaic forced with weak solder

and sharp glass.

The pieces can’t speak to each other

and I cannot speak to you.

The fingers and toes have gone numb

and my skin is peeling off.

Already, the water is in my lungs.

Already, I’m machinated apart,

yet we are not machines.

Life returns through decay.

I return through the decay of

my old selves and old ways.

I am the fruiting body.

I will find the pieces through

filamentous mycelium

in the cool, damp spaces

I was left in.

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Omer 19 — Operculum < previous || next > Omer 21 — honey whiskey on my tongue

the start: Omer 1 — Pomegranate