Climb down into my ribs.
There is an aching.
Put on your boots for the dank and the wet.
Be sure to bring your tools.
Bring the adze, the auger.
Bring the hammer, the saw, and the level.
There is much work to be done.
When you are inside, you will hear the rustling.
Light a match in the darkness.
You will see it, hulking there,
Quivering in the flickering chamber,
Wine-colored mass of pulp,
Whispering meat flailing in that humid cavern,
Murmuring in an alien tongue.
Build the scaffolding high.
Venture into the inner places.
You must ease your hands into the machinery,
Let it resonate through your bones.
Reach your hands in,
And ply your trade.
SHIMMY BOYLE has yet to realize his childhood dream of becoming a hot air balloon operator. His favorite animal is the duck. He just feels that it is a great animal. He loves going to the woods. He thinks flowers are the best, but feels bad picking them, and then feels sort of silly for feeling bad. He tends to twiddle his thumbs. His first book of poems, Recipe For a Mountain, was published in February 2010. There is other stuff to see at his website, if you are into that sort of thing (www.shimmypoetry.com).