I found this little wiggling

thing in me called subversion:

’tis a worm that eats away

at me but I do not die-no I

live, for the worm does not

eat my soft human flesh,

it eats that which was planted

long ago that was never mine,

never me, but kept this being

in the race to be what I am

told to be till the time of death.

 

The worm, the worm, it does its

work till I am mine, fully me,

not constrained, in full voice,

subverted, free of Samsara,

present with this self, complete.

 

10/9/2025