A Hunger Poem by Leon Moon

I scalp the ridge which sustains my existence
And gauge the cushioned rose from it's root,
Antediluvian nails in death's suspense
Whom floods with darkness eternal loot
In stuccoed succour of a pine's sustenance,
Digging up rusty soil which heats and clogs to soot
These stumps I amble on as I un-earth each sense —
Chiselling, once familiar, animations of the Soul
To a knotted net, where the winds swallow an empty bowl;
I scalp the ridge which sustains my existence
And gauge the cushioned rose from it's root.