out of the maggot comes a fly

i flew out
out of you dear faggot
in which twenty years
i have rotted
being ashamed
coiled and wrinkled
like an uncut penis
and there was a buzz
the noise
that rang in my head
there was a soul flowering
rising from things dead
born out of the limbs
of a relative
i have your eyes
your nose
and a lord's forehead
i am of the flies.
my eyes red
dry and cracked
with a thousand images
of just one thing
unfocused

and my tongue
it laps for you
but the acid
destroys the words
so i eat them
what kind of maggot was i?
brown and low to the ground
i cared not to fly

and if i ever find a love
someone who could help me rot
i think i'd rather not
because even sweet love
roses and chocolate
spoils
to the spoils
of every war
of every lover
and then i am born.
to swarm
over every silver white cloud
--the shell
of which angels are born
and i black them out

and i swarm
over every baby
i could've possibly bore
to the olden skin
i could be at home in
i feast them out
making everything
a new buzzing wing
so it flies away
and where do i stay?
in the fly that flies
or in the maggot that remains

Congratulations to me!
My poem Japanese Gardens
has been picked up to be published
in an anthology due out next year.