The Sheltering Chthonic

Tickle the trickling, pickling rot

mindlessly; or else solder –with fodder– that clot

— or let bleed, and proceed to relieve the disease

by attention, so end the well-pensioned distention

you’ve cuddled with smuggled-in mud.


Upstairs is the heat, with its broken machines,

where they labor in acrid and humid cubbies,

enslaven to urgencies, admins to please,

all eyes flicker down: one-way glass: no release.


Under basement beneath is the coolness, relief;

slick the swarming earth-sod, ground by tentacle roots

at midnight: animate, ride the respirants, heave

fearlessly, and dig deeper for motilant truth.

10 thoughts on “The Sheltering Chthonic

  1. Don’t you just love the opportunity to write “chth” in sequence? I believe that may be a genetic inheritance among the Welsh. Now if you could just work in Aberystwyth or Cowperthwaite…

    Liked by 1 person

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