Tonight's Poet Corner: Mud Clot
Mud Clot by Belinda Roddie It's when the earth has a heart attack, shaking at its cardiovascular core - the throttling of a piss-poor motor as the sludge seeps in and freezes up everything - gears, buttons, little circuits leading the electrical cavalry to healthier days. You drink a chocolate shake, and they tell you that you'll die from it, and the mud leaks from your pores thick and clotted, like the sweat of Mother Nature as she suffers a grainy miscarriage, wooded crib abandoned by the pine-needled tears on the back of her eyes. Don't hold out for a cure, because there is none - not for you, anyway. Nature has a way of sewing stitches, icing the injury even when it's melted away. When we are all dead and gone from cardiac arrest, the coronary artery of this fleshy orb will be un- plugged, and the plaque will drain away, like pus in an infected wound.