There's a body in the woods (a likely place for one to be)

'Midst the toiling of moss and the greedy hand of mulch, is where I lay.

The soiling caress of any dark soothing bed's a simple pleasure,

but the seat above is what beckons my stay,

for I crave a different unmaking.

Leave me to weave under leaved-canopies of woods untainted by men,

allow the rot to treat me like any carrioned-other.

Abandon me, please, to the winnowing of Time with its sighs of mildew,

with its maggot-blooming ministrations.

Leave me, to the mercy of fernful filaments of forest-floors (how they breathe as one, how they want and want and consumedly maim)

Turn away, so they may kiss all over me in a chlorophylled claim.

Oh, let the lichenous heralds of new-dawn decomposing crawl over me wildflower-sweet.

Let the greed-gleaming vultures gorge on my putrid flesh 'til they are drunk and sated.

Let my only remnants be stuck in some wild dog's teeth.

I will not find peace away from the six-legged seraphs and angel-aphids that mind me,

I will not find repose in the stillness of death,

but in the spreading of it all.