axeman: the rotten



this wood
will be rotten

too easy to heft
too light

there’s nothing there

white ants
their job done
have moved on

all they’ve left behind
some kind of

see how wet
the log is
they prefer the wood
they’ll eat it dry

whenever it suits them

look here


this wood
is rotten

you can tell by the white
and by the white
where the fungus
has been

I’ve seen them
they’ve been growing mushrooms

when they dry
they’ll burn
in my fire

don’t breathe
the spores in

© Frank Prem, 2017

September 2017 Poem #25: at the top

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