Spurt
There are snakes that eat birds,
and there are birds that eat snakes.
There are lives that serve death,
and there are deaths that serve life.
Life spurts out skeletons like a gardener plants tomato stakes,
and on them we drape our blood tubes and gut tubes.
Life spurts out skulls made of calcium and collagen,
which we fill up with brain tubes
so we can think about problems and naked people.
There are bones
upon bones
upon bones
upon bones,
once squirming with life tubes,
now just a table for another serving
of bones.
Peer well with your eye orbs
while they still squat in your skull
at this squirming, spurting cacophony
while our star still shines upon it.
For one day that star
will cast its last ray,
and its life tubes will rot into worm food
and it too will be tossed upon the pile
of bones.
We tumble for a few seconds from the womb to the grave hole
and we laugh and scheme and grumble about wrong people
and sing "doot doot doo doot" with our face holes
to vibrate pleasantly in someone else's head holes,
and life spurts past full of kombucha and libertarians,
and we kiss and lie sweetly to each other
and put our tubes into each other's tubes
so that life can spurt a bit more.
There is a bird biting a snake's tail
who is biting that bird's tail,
and they form a circle in outer space
and in that circle is our star
and in that star there is a skull
and in that skull there is a baby
who stares straight into your gut tubes
where your defenses can't protect you
and chirps light into your blood tubes
with a merry "Peep peep!"
And that's it, then.
Life's got you.
You are now its humble servant.
Your eye orbs will never be the same.
You now flow with the spurting
and chirp along with the tumbling
and it's a laughing, crying blue butterfly waterfall
into bones.
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