Worms

Worms and maggots,
fear no fear,
its homestead instead.
Cracked fingers splitting,
mounds of ant hills,
like swallowed glass.
No ledge stabilizes,
heavy sawdust bones,
now raining underground.
Wind as bait,
for veins and internal,
orgasmic liquid warmth.
Shovel out holes,
close as a rapist,
all breath and dirt,
Drown and die,
river waters cradling,
cold and pale and strange.