Where No Moth Comes to Devour and No Worm Destroys


At the center of your Universe,
in those arms of his, hold where no moth
comes to devour and no worm destroys
that noiseless warmth inside of which life

decides to go on existing or
questioning existence’s purpose
until it realizes the more
it fights, resistance builds heat and tries,

as all friction does lies, in the course
of torching from the gun-cotton of
soft minds which soldier on with no course
toward his crime which rubs off on boys,

with silent breath to ignite what words
bring explosion denial enjoys.


Filled to bursting, with circling fingers
of increasing courage gripping fist-
first what thickness your wrist spit deploys
its drip from a tongued kiss to slick glides

in a rhythm from lips above to
what grows below, what garden mirrors
heaven’s endless pleasures your hand goes
on edging, hoeing, inching inside

of him, combining flesh which differs
only in colour, not texture, wet
skin thickened against criticism worse
than what you both want, the hunt’s decoy

this postponement your elixir’s
better for delayed its liquor’s voice.

Notate Bene:
☞ The title of the poem is derived from a line in The Gospel of Thomas: Introduced and Translated by Marvin Meyer, [Saying] 76(3), the second tractate of Nag Hammadi Codex II (NHC II.2), in “The Gospel of Thomas with the Greek Gospel of Thomas” of The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The International Edition: Edited by Marvin Meyer, published at New York by HarperOne in 2018; page 149.