Burst Out Of The Worm Poem by Felix Bongjoh

Burst Out Of The Worm
(i)

Burst out of the fat
worm crawling you, slowing
you down in a farty breeze

hurled off to you
from the diarrheic mouth
of a teacher carrying
stinging tarantula hands.

Twisting you out of pillows
from horned
swollen cobblestones

in the fangs
of large tentacled rocks
still thick with pimples from clay.

Split out from soft
switchetty grub,
times growing a wobbling cloud,

your head not yet
shrugged off
from a lingering cossus
still in its unwinged nest.

(ii)

Bounce up like a rock
in a crater's mouth flashing at you
massive light

from the stammering lips
of candles,
when times are wax

you're devouring like a piece
of cloud flung
to sit on your syrupy pancake.

Let your lumped
breakfast swell with the pink
shredded cloud

of dawn sitting
on an oval crystal dish hung
at the far end of sky

you'll not reach in boots, but
with scaly rags
hanging down from your soles.

Those rags carry helices
in the dark storm burning you out
into folded mists of moth.

You only sail
into the heavy dusty wings
of a moth, a fat dot
in a cream cloud,

when the river of a wordy sentence
is still to flow with a noose
and fatten the breeze

(iii)

Burst out of the moth
dancing over a spear of light
shot by a candle
breathing out stars and sparks.

Wear the pink glossy
nylon shirt
of a new worm crawling

without the pants
of a lengthened cloud, a sky
ringing with a drizzle.

Let me swirl
in my worm deep down
a cartwheeled,

spiraling canyon wall,
from which I'll find
a faster staircase to the sun's bonfire
than you under the white cloudy
sheets of your bed,

a storm of steamy sleep
yet to seize you
like a handcuffed prisoner.