These old stone slabs could not hide forever

this bed of rot. Through the second crack

the dead-scent drifts upwards hot

embedding tendrils into tender nostrils—

unwitting apostles stay unaware

they are fed on.

And what of the amenable, obedient lot

kneeling in the sludge-stench to steep?

Both the ferocious and docile are equal

in bone-worth when putrefaction wants

naught but raw matter bought in bulk.

Soon the concrete beneath your feet

will crumble and consume you

and in digestion you will rue

not treading lightly on grass. Lacing

your lips shut is a useless precaution

against your own ingestion

by another staggering, tar-stained maw.

Look below, see vaporous coils twirling

timid at your ankles, admiring

your lumber-spun, marionette frame.

Step away from decay before it holds fast

and remember to be wary of teeth.