Brew

Phagocytosis of a Dead Yeast Particle

 

 

The scent of yeast is the scent of birth, placental,
the scent of birth and the scent of death the tiny things
chew up the sugars that are the lifeblood that is the soul
of the lives they consume that would scream screams that coagulated
the blood if they had mouths to scream and blood to clot
and cells to make ears to hear like falling trees and minds
to think and care and be bored and add relevancy.

And if the yeasts had clusters of nerves to clump and pile
and breed and shoot their electro-chemical spunk into each other’s
open hungry mouths with passion and fervor enough
to form squishy complex beautiful hideous brains
that cared and lusted and composed and rusted
like ours they’d all be psychopaths.

Just like we are.

Drink up.

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5 thoughts on “Brew

  1. mimulux says:

    brilliant!

    • Thank you! Poetry is weird, because it sort of bites you and won’t let go until you turn it into words. That isn’t nearly as true for me with fiction, but on the other hand writing fiction makes a lot more sense.

      • mimulux says:

        to be honest jesse.. i am not a poetry person at all.. but this really is great.. so far i can tell….. you are a great writer.. poetry or fiction.. either one 🙂

  2. Tame SheWolf says:

    What is it like in your head? 😛

    I enjoyed this poem!

    • Ha! I somehow missed this wonderful comment!

      I think my poetry is a more straightforward insight into my head, for what that’s worth, than my prose. I don’t write poems, so much as write them down.

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