Wicker

Sun spots upon ruined lenses that can not see
Where the empty souls inhabit...a wicker seed
Along a path of cannibalism sought to rot the decayed..
And here stands a man alone...his wicker face slack
Dead...worse over the way his eyes glisten.
Souls must leap to the heavens...but his remains chained...
The seed within...that wicker seed, that sick seed from nowhere,
Germinates a colony of horror...He is dead, but yet not quiet...
Cordwood, perhaps, resembles his body...its continuous stiffness.
He feels as if he were wicker...he feels life out of reach...
In a world full of hate and ruin and death he knows life is not
Possible
Life, that slippery carnivore, cares not of this man whom lay as
Wicker
A seed...a single seed...and the entire world collapse…