In the mine

13 10 2010

33 souls lingered, longed, and lived through 69 dark and dank days. Rescue uncertain. A restless rest the only option. Their plight began at one of earth’s secret mouths. Hungrily they –without will –obeyed and fed their freedom to the darkness of the mine. To live without light—like lost moles-so post apocalyptic. Memories feed. Hunger sustains before despair fulfills the hearts of those who sleep on pillows of piled excrement. That which is dark is no longer. A community forged and forced among rocks. Space is fragile. 33 unsynchronized breaths beat against the damp walls—playing the keys of persistence. Overriding the body’s slow rot, the breath plays on taunting and teasing the body as it molds. Putrid fungi covered flesh demands to unite itself with its sibling of soil. Eyelashes become mushroom umbrellas shading souls from eternal rotting. In their eyes, light of life before the collapse shimmers briefly—like morning light in their untidy kitchens—wives waiting, children playing, and jobs demanding. Routine a comfort and a curse. An endless and frantic musical composition. Now the longest pause and fattest comma punctuates their opus. Like muffled mole steps, their lives hope never to see a period fill the hole above their heads.

Mines,
the mind of the masses.

Commitments and currencies
depend upon these sacred ores.

We thieves
steal earth’s children.

We cradle our extractions
and band
them to our egos and excessive needs.

The belly aches
from its unwilled c-section
political, communicative, and emotional energies travel
along highways
constructed from earth’s fetuses.

The bellies of the earth
are hungry hollow shells.
Collapse-able.

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