The Living Dead Woman Has Roots

where her brain would be if she hadn’t kept
to bed for so long :: in a season of time-
lapse :: she could hear tree sap seething ::
smell webworm, caterpillar :: wit intact ::

the lay of land becomes her, contour-lined ::
every where a when :: with depths exposed,
so bogged she’s fen :: she’s ill-disposed ::
an understatement :: never mind, i’m fine ::

she’d insist, but she’s worm-tongued ::
what she’d give for salty tequila ::
a blunt :: sharp as petrol :: philomela
without song to compensate her lungs ::

a nightingale comforts, but not enough ::
she wants more than echo to fill her hush

The Living Dead Woman Discovers Quoz
The Living Dead Woman Sonnets