The black worms are occupying, by Derek O'Rourke

The black worms are occupying
the ceiling of O'Connells
stretched, immobile
resting in their glory.

They are not listening
to a voice in the backroom,
("What use is poetry?"),
where the onion-poet peels words
for his personal salvation.

The black worms crinkle
and reach out
for a good spot.
They see the poets down there
as either harmless neutrals
on the side of non-violence
or loud-mouthed agitators
too individual to cause them
indigestion.

The black worms have settled
for lies and livelihood
and rather than constancy
they contract to expand
their circular muscles
into human consciousness
nudging the poets mind
to write the canon
of their way of thinking.

- Derek O'Rourke