Philosophical

filled with images rolling like bird 
severy wet edge finds moldy old spot 
savory heart always yearning whatnot 
but block not, 
for what she heard: 
from the beginning it was a hot spot 
the herb gardens had such fair aroma 
they even warded off sinister insect 
come what may 
or come what not 
she saw her face turn in pools Water 
from when songs Dove first were sung 
the flavour of Morning turned a mist 
and by midday summer autumns to Fall 
for the Byline of winters all-in-all 
draw Mine perfect particulars of rot 
 -self of heinous veracity plucks lot 
appalled and obliged, disfigured bumbling buffoon, 
grasps at threads of life with sausage-like fingers crippling.

born to rot