The Cowboy

You wade through swampland

without insulated boots;

the parasitic silt and black liquid glass

soaks into crusted jeans, as you choose.

 

There’s a fascinating you find

in being intimate with grime–

the water peels past your skin

and your soul whispers “holy.”

 

So. You spend your days

charting slime and specimens,

reveling at microscopic pincers, wriggling appendages…

at the artfulness of ugliness

and just how delicately it crawls under our skin.

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