These Bodies-

These bodies-
Twisted with anger and years
Will never draw a crowd.
Calves and shoulders knotted,
Mind and circulation clotted,
Eyes and tongues have rotted
Like an old oak post
Hoisting a faded sign no one can read.

These bodies-
Eating themselves
Are turned out of any door.
With zero to offer
And nothing afford
Too high for conversation
Too low for "the lord."
No one will have them
But the grass.

None but the pavement
But the sky
But the sea
None but the mountains of nothing embrace these bodies freely.

These bodies-
Eroded by infection,
Place their fevers on the alter to be burned.
But at the foot of a swollen priest,
Each one of these bodies are spurned.
Each sacrifice, refused
Each offering, abused
Each appeal to compassion
Censored or confused.

The only truly open arms belong to life and death.
Accepting without hesitation
Both bequethed and bereft.
The aroma and the stench.

This planet -
In its silent acceptance of every act -
Of each dividing cell,
Makes misanthropes of all who inhabit it.