Like Mushrooms

Mushrooms eat the dead

then they gather themselves

and push up, exploding out

of the earth, sometimes they

even leave a dent in the dirt,

a crater where they

pushed their way

into the world;

Then there’s me, a solitary figure

sitting in a room writing

about mushrooms,

feeding on my own dead

that I store cold in the

back of my head

knowing I will never use them to

explode out of the earth,

lonely little man, writing

about mushrooms, and dirt

who will never leave a dent

of his own.