Hollow Branches - Compost Crown

Shovel the bones into the womb of earth, Rot is the rite that gives all birth. Flesh to fungus, vein to vine, Compost the corpse, compost the spine. Stir the sorrow with splinters and bark, Whispers bloom in the belly of dark. Worms recite the sacred creed… “Death is not end, only seed.” I am crowned with compost, Throned in the mire. Maggots chant softly Of root and of fire. Let the rot rise in me, Let the green take hold… In the blackest decay, We become whole. I kneel to the heap with hands unclean, Blessing the mold where breath has been. Steaming soil, the sacred smoke… A holy stink from the ash of oak. Shovel the bones into the womb of earth, Rot is the rite that gives all birth. Flesh to fungus, vein to vine, Compost the corpse, compost the spine. I am crowned with compost, Throned in the mire. Maggots chant softly Of root and of fire. Let the rot rise in me, Let the green take hold… In the blackest decay, We become whole. Turn the blade. Spill the rind. Mulch the shame. Unmake the spine. Turn the blade. Spill the rind. Feed the flame That eats through time. I am crowned with compost, Throned in the mire. My prayer is putrid, My gospel: expire. Let the rot rise in me, Let the green take hold… In the death I have fed, I am reborn and bold. Let the green take hold, In the death I have fed Let the green take hold, In the death I have fed