elemental

A writer is a worm.
Crawling through the dark, devouring
Converting the bitter peels and discarded
thoughts to rich soil, Wriggling
in double-ended discomfort,
two heads always
Thinking in different directions.

A writer is a worm
Feeling the way through dead rotting flesh
To the heart within that still holds
A charm, a blessing, a kiss.

A writer is a worm in the apple
of time, browning syntax to squirm
into a pentametric rhyme scheme,
Rotting away with a barrage of
metaphorical dismay and
outrage.

A writer is a worm.
The spice must flow.