Mushrooming
May 16 2013


Mushrooms, in the grass
in the shadowy damp
of trees.
Exponentially feed
on unsuspecting plants, dead matter,
white, bulbous, glowing.

And in a week
black, decomposing,
so insubstantial
a hand would vanish
into frothy mush,
too gruesome to touch.

In a wet spring
under cool sun
one easily succumbs
to fungus.

Spores, in the breeze
like alien seeds
naively breathed
into soft pink lungs.

Eats

or is slowly eaten up
by toxic mycelium,

that mushroom, and bud
all over creation.

The snake in the grass
you never imagined

here.