Belly Bone

“Self-Loathing” by Ponsonby Britt

man at his center

so vulnerable

not one belly bone

guards his mortality

soft tissue perils abound

all the organs of

ethical impulses

faced with a danger

that even the

inchoate fetus

can well comprehend

countless predators

wanting to feast

upon private interiors

stealing the essence

of principled men

to add into their own

so much easier is it

to eat of good flesh

than to do the slow work

of creating it

day after night

after unswerving day

how ironic the faith

of despicable minds

in romantic conceits

that morality has a

corporeal substance

how tragic the faith

of despicable minds

that a killing of virtue

can somehow redeem

self-contempt