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