Honey and Fungus Assemblage | Mike Corrao

Anthropocene crawl through luminous
body in mutation of avian deities
at the stone altar i am a coral clergymen
who has been given the spells of heaven
and dressed in garb of the holy past
with growing mass
in mutation of body of gods i am new
rearranged tissue in their image
for sacrificial grace
evidence is wide and deep in soil
nothing will grow after i am born
hinterlands soaked in rain and wet fur
mouth is coated in spores and hardening
like callous and hardening stone
coated in moss film cleaned with tongue
lick across the palate and vocabulary
extracted from fungal residue
the rhizome of my making
weaving inside myself of labyrinthine
body the steeping tea you bathe in
i feel you being torn apart by something
ontology crawling through infrared
invisible limbs tearing you apart
planetary body is changing and you are
changing the shape of yourself
and the anthropocene churns my guts
fungal personas in luminous silhouette
armor of floral composites
condensed in long plates and curved helmets
live in the shifted future body in the shape
of superior avian deities with follower
summons and the altar of overgrown stone
mouth of calcified teeth and chitin spine
dictated sentiment follower preaches
anthropocene drip blood alive new landscape
cells appear on surface of skin weak frame
awoken in the dark basement luminous
of candles and glass jars
the followers of new avian deities
pour honey in the shape of pentagram
and massage the honey into concrete pores
summon the man-made out of bees
alive in multitudes of the hive of the mind
i can feel myself splitting
into a million pieces of smaller me
spitting remnants of old personas
living in caves of bloody mouth and eyes world
assemblage of spores coating inside of cheeks
gap of pouring residue
herb garden drip saliva along my torso
abdominal overgrowth like brownstone wall
you meditate as budding houseplant
waste landscape turning three times
flora child birthed in peek of dovecote
new clergymen arrive with hooks
hooks extract calloused inner cheeks
uproot garden for roots in humming caldron
spectral arrival of avian deities
i cannot count feather hen on arms of holy
writ you carve the text in yourself
we dance in the mystic theater
and you call self only part of greater persona
green detectives arrive in airport
and green detectives take your components
follower find your remains and regrow
missing flesh in new fungal anatomy
biomass of sloping mammoth
you have been replaced by yourself

Mike Corrao is the author of Man, Oh Man (Orson’s Publishing, 2018) and Gut Text (11:11 Press, 2019). His work has been featured in publications such as Entropy, Always Crashing, and Portland Review.