the roots of experience

Published November 25, 2002

by Ryan Sean O'Reilly

There is something in us yet
Like the hard roots of an old oak tree
It courses with sperm and oozes out ecstasy
Bent with pleasure
Rigid and firm in will
Grounded in the soil of experience
Clinging and stuck around a rock
That is alienated in the subtera world
Of the Bacchus black fawns.
Our tendrils of bark claw through the soil
Slowly sucking through the filtered morning dew
Drinking in this processed and spent ambrosia 

In the halls where worms are gods
Mighty are we who obey the swell of time
Parasites to the Great Tree host of the over world
We sweat out loves juices from our hard pores
To lubricate our journey-burroughs through the earth
Fending off nothing by the by
Our defense is heard in a sigh
While our many actions go awry
Deep in this dirt blanket of darkness we lie
Growing more fat and knotted as each year goes by
Our rings can tell you everything
But they won’t tell you anything
Of the world that lies above 

Worm legions ploy the earth
In the silence of the gloom you can sense the digging
When the swarms of insects hatch a new beginning
In dirt flocks they will come
And seek you out
To eat of your coarse flesh
Little pods descend into your realm
Fear the digger, the biter, the eyeless larva
Those that hunger for the pulp in your marrow.
Fibrous feeders and soil bound viruses
Let us never hope that you will breach the surface of this black sea
Where the sun will burn you, and animals will gnaw at you. 

So we sleep the long arms of a green crowned prince.
Stretching out our spheres of influence.
Always wary of the hollowed out premonitions
There is no peace in this nightless gloom
Wandering on plainless paths
Our ignorance is grown anew.