Bog by Shannon Laws

The Bog

Moss-heavy limbs fall from charge 

of a warm southern wind

rest in a compost graveyard

of other arms that have been

Once boasted of leaves 

awarded with weighted sog

You might pray if awarded knees

The warm low water releases a fog

Time will turn you into swamps breath

and a story told around the table

As the matted hair of a beggars sets

as sure you’ll become a fable

Draw out the white worm that hides in the gut

with a warm bowl of cream

Demand it to uncoil from the inner glut

the foreign body within a scream

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