“Worms” by Matthew Carpenter

The worms sleep in the silty loam
Until their tunnels fill with rain
They wriggle up through mud and bore
Trap doors to rooms inside my brain

Once in, they wriggle and they writhe
Those pinky-wide digesting tubes
Just a mouth, body trailed behind
With sole purpose and no intent

They feed on rotted leaves and grass
Clippings stuffed in my eyes and ears
They make rich the mind with their cast-
-ings and feed shoots of green ideas

Matthew Carpenter is a fifth-year English major. His work has been rejected by a select group of reputable publications. He lives on his dog’s schedule and writes poetry and short fiction.