death of a savior

the chair sits me upon it
 – a wooden friend to my worn flesh.

i let them inhabit me;
bugs weave through my hair (and warm my scalp),

beetles scuttle under my shirt,
slugs take over my legs (and slicken them),
spiders web me once over (insistent on preserving me),

-- the impossibility

ants trudge across my body (a new frontier),

and flies land on me, and birds splatter me,
and the dog tears at my shoes and jumps
on my lap (my continual destructive friend).

            the chickens cheep their hunger to me,

but my ears are the homes of moths,
my eyes food for the spiders,
my nose caves to worms, and
my mouth has been sucked dry.

            my flesh becomes petrified, and
my feet are roots.
            my back clings to the chair that sat
me upon it, and it too turns to moss.

            i am no longer of the human life,

and am desecrated only by insects.

            my flesh is no longer flesh,

my mind no longer minds, and
my heart no longer feels.

but the chickens continue to cheep,

and the dog barks across my land.

            the sun continues to shine on my world,

and rain feeds us all.

            i harken to no one,

and responsibility is no longer mine.

*Not one of my Christian poem, but one that is heartfelt.