Hunter Boone, “In the Belly of Sentient Beings

In the belly of sentient beings are black holes and worms, Postures; worthy and unworthy gestures, raisons d’etre, longings, tentacles of regrets, fuselages of desire below puffed-up bloated hearts poked-through with sticks and twigs; red and blue blood wrapped in twine hanging from meaningless empty bottles of preparedness.

This is where the soul sits and rests hanging from the nearest cavity wall until the last chime rings announcing, “Times up!” where the door slams and the whistle blows.

Suddenly there are no plans to make, no hearts to break, no solemn longings half-baked.