Poetry & art by Rob Plath
tug the threads
i think it's quite
the opposite
yr eyes
are sewn shut
not after yr death
by the mortician
but at birth
as soon you
cross the lip
of the womb
& most never
undo the sutures
in this life
they just run around
w/ their eyes
stitched up
like a cadaver
maybe one day
they’ll tug the threads
out of their lids
& really see
but it’ll be too late
as that other
dark lid closes forever
& the soil rains down
upon them
Z
i think it's quite
the opposite
yr eyes
are sewn shut
not after yr death
by the mortician
but at birth
as soon you
cross the lip
of the womb
& most never
undo the sutures
in this life
they just run around
w/ their eyes
stitched up
like a cadaver
maybe one day
they’ll tug the threads
out of their lids
& really see
but it’ll be too late
as that other
dark lid closes forever
& the soil rains down
upon them
Z
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anthills
yr heel may smash
the ant today
but one day
their ancestors
will build
tiny hills above
yr grave
& they will move
beneath the sun
& yr meaningless
monuments
yr heel may smash
the ant today
but one day
their ancestors
will build
tiny hills above
yr grave
& they will move
beneath the sun
& yr meaningless
monuments
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Rob Plath has saturated the underground literary scene with his writing for the past 25 years. He is the author of A BELLYFUL OF ANARCHY, THERE’S A FIST DUNKED IN BLOOD BEATING IN MY CHEST, DEATH IS DEAD, HEARTS FOR BRAINS, AN AX FOR THE FROZEN SEA, THE SKELETON SUTRAS and many more. He lives in New York with his cat Daisy and is a vegan. Check out his website at www.robplath.com.
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