The title crawl
Whirling past:
"Feed the Worm."
Images
Of death spasms
On vinyl tape
Are tight'ning
'Round her neck
Until she spins the
Reel in time to
Lightning flash and
Churning sound
Of meat to ash;
Of bone ground
Down to red sand
The captions read:
"Hide the pieces."
She sees the creases
In the edges
Of the film-lit woods;
Bloodied shovels claw
The naval of the mud;
Intestinal clods
Pass teeth polished
With stringy fat,
Her face aglow
With redd'n'd lace
And film grain—
Dried about the mouth
"Throw it up."
Cast far into
A thousand homes,
The audience behold
With beady eyes
Her guilty conscience—
Glist'ning in
Voyeuristic glee;
Listen to her gag
The Tapeworm up again
And
Spooling from
Her yellow throat—
Bloated filmstock
Full of eat'n parts
Unstuck from
The Worm's digest