Archaic Torso

When the worm is close,
When the phone calls come
From inside the home,

When the body, not
The wider world, rots
From the inside out,

The self feels harried
And wary and trapped,
All things it could feel

But doesn’t on more
Ordinary days.
For the shivering

And feverish hurt,
All distal concerns
Align like filings

Around the magnet
Of mere bodily
Decay. Suddenly,

A war, a conflict
Within the culture,
A bad winter storm,

Are all metaphors
For failing systems
In one body’s core.