Fleshy Angels and Angelic Worms- an E-chap

Hymn to the Worm Bodies

sit with the angel heads, reside on the angel heads and pull the halos out of the nasal tunnels streaked with mucus. the meaty god squirmed through dirt chambers, choking on the earth clots. the worm monster was an intestinal accordion. it howled and pulled celestial tongues out of its eyes. the eyes were hungry. the eyes had faces covering their mouths. they were large mouths studded with toothed hands. the angels rode the rotating innards. they bucked and dropped into the rectal holes dotting the countryside. naked gods huddled in the spaces. the pink flesh bodies squealed and bit. they had no necks. they twisted around the rubber wrists and drew bone bodies into their cavernous torsos. a

goddess hunted the underworld and slaughtered her youngest siblings with a single stone. we could be disasters, she whispered to the receiving gates. shadows came from her shoulders. they were snakes wanting to be slugs.

Hymn to the Angel Eyes

did not blink. the eyes did not blink, barely twitched despite the halo nails digging into the everlasting retinas and burning an apple core across the iris. the angels bled tiny beads of soft fruit juice. their body fluids were gelatinous. they groaned from their noses. they waited for the worms to wind their thin bodies up the veins. they used hearts as conception grounds. worms went first, winding their bodies around one another and sobbing with each bodily tremor. the worms masturbated their linked segments. lubrication came out of their heads and spread back towards the nail end. no angel touched the rectum. no angel had a rectum, not even the celestial folk given to defecating on perverts' heads. then the angels stuffed herb sprigs into their eyes and waited to grow blind. any amount of parsley would force unwanted things away. so they kept their eyes shut and waited. when their eyes bled, it was internally.

Hymn to the Parsley Halos

brown stems. and green leaves. and the yellow marrow joints that made the girl forget how much she missed the angels crawling up her cervix like a migratory pack of worms. they bled her uterus dry and froze the fluids into an icy custard to serve to their favorite relatives. the worms had no taste buds. the angels had too many. they touched their tongues to metal slits and gasped over the many elemental notes. the titanium quality, they gasped. poles came out of their heads. they were long and tinged with blood streaks. the angels drank the bitter roots but did not pull the skewers out. we are fine with this version of celestial mortality, they whispered and let the worms bite their fingers. there were always worms. they were in the parsley plants and in the walls and stuck beneath the floorboards. they covered the angels' skins. when the angels were angry, they removed their flesh to showcase the squirming snakes beneath them.

Hymn to the Holy Worms

masticated worm beasts topped with the sacred unleavened wafers. the monster presented its tongue and waited to be fed from the virgin's thighs. she stacked her lap with pounds worth of raw meat. all the better to keep the worms satisfied. because she did not have butter cuts or leavening slabs or even the tiniest amount of protein solvents. the great worm queen shed her human coat and left the unbuttoned sheath on the ground. this was all for nothing and some dirt. she could not hatch her hive unless she had a proper cave beneath her growing stomach. the women came with their hacksaws and knives. they chopped the savior worm into thirteen separate halves and planted each beneath a cornfield. she regenerated and the worker snakes whispered sweet nothings to the serial killer hornets and the surrounding angelic beasts. they all wanted a salt bath but only one species would survive the desiccation.

Hymn to the Skeletal Angels

lost their flesh to the meat grinder. the skeletal angels wanted intestines and innards, sheets of flesh and the parsley flakes sprinkled in between the layers of dermis and epidermis, the fat layers. they were blubber beings. the angels thought they should be dead but they walked with clanking bones and monstrous teeth. one pulled hair behind it. there was no scalp. just strands. they mixed into the walls. they made furrows in the floor. and the beasts thought to move elsewhere but could not. they drank the nectar. they decided to be bees and stung. but gods were impervious to the stings. their faces swelled but then came back together. one man walked this way and another went that way and the angels caught them both in the rib cage net. like lambs to the slaughter only they were humans. humans to the butcher shop and the angels gnashed their porcelain teeth until their tongues compressed into boxes of steel traps.

Hymn to the Angel Groins

straitjackets and snapdragons and little slip noosed silver mouths. the angels masturbated. no the angels sat with their hands held tight so they could remember a life without sets of teeth. they were no better than floating sharks. but without the scales, they couldn't even make it through one apocalypse to the other. the cannibal clam shells bit their ankles off. mixed in that body slurry was the old cockles and the pieces of dog ear. no man could remember any of it and the angels didn't try. there were too many worms existing on their shoulders. the breasts struggled to be rid of the nipples and the throat tried to lose the Adam's apple. there was no Adam and then there was. there was an atom and that Adam was dead with the first nuclear blast of the apple consumption. but the Eve remembered. she was the eve and then she was just a hungry woman, forgetting that her uterus wouldn't thank her for eating it all.

Hymn to the Worm Ribs

they had. they could not have. the rib pieces. the curved bones. the assortment of vertebrae kept for the angels to savor when they were at their angriest. this was why the angels rioted and tossed their stones through brick necks and tackled asphalt ceilings. all so they could get attention and a piece of meat. they wanted the rib-eye. they wanted the cartilaginous pieces. a steady supply of marrow stuck between their teeth. they swallowed and tasted delicious fat. the worms piled over them. the worms begged for sweets. the worms were tired of their dirt baths and wanted to try water. they forgot that they were overly saturated. any more liquid and the angels could drain them just by pointing a finger. but the worms wanted and the worms demanded and the longer the angels said no, the more the worms begged and bent light posts. then the angels stole the ribs away. they stored them in the roof of the caved jaws.

Hymn to the Intestinal Mouths

there was a warm mouth and a cold jaw and a lukewarm tongue and a hot neck and a piece of bone gristle narrowed at one end. the esophagus tried to speak. it wanted to share a name with the nominal chest bones but the heart pushed it back. you are inconsequential, the heart said and went into cardiovascular shock. it wasn't even cardiac. the worms were ventricles and scared aorta. as soon as the heart turned brown, they panicked and died, drying out like mushrooms. it was true that they were all just another form of fungus. they wanted to be used like truffle oil but no one liked the sharpness associated with their taste. they cracked and the mouth went numb and the old man edged his hands until they were machete blades and the nails were enameled weapons. he tried celebrating the angels' coming but the more he spoke, the more his tongue tied itself up. then he gagged on a muscle bag for the worms.

Hymn to the Emaciated Worms

sat with their swollen heads atop the poor bodies. the worms spit up bones. suffering from eating disorders forced by the angels, the worms built their anatomical frames over ironing boards. the heat made their bones leak. they had flesh running everywhere. it was wax. it was water. it made them gnash their innards and crave the solace of a full stomach. but that was sad. they had nothing else to look forward to. not a broken road or a misplaced cabinet. the faucets opened up and let all the worms out. they were zombie things. they had half-eaten skeletons and dripped saliva. so sad, they crooned and stuffed their bulk into a wall outlet. it was a long and warm way to go. they fried. they turned into a crisp noodles. a woman came and dipped them into a soy sauce based dish. they were almost milky in texture. she dripped and bit and let the worms fill her stomach. when she was done, she zipped off her angel skin.

Hymn to the Angel Worms

slithering halos ate the Adam man and his little worm woman while she tried to satiate angel brands with her front teeth and the toenails. but there were trees the worms were allergic to and the more they rubbed against the trunks, the more their hides thickened with sickness. they were snotty and smelling of rotten meat. everything was rotten meat. there was meat in the bee hives and meat beneath the fingernails and meat here and meat over there and the meat was not tasty. the meat had no sauce. the meat was not meat but a layer of fake plastic skin the angels collected so they could be reminded of humanity later when there was no dirt left to walk on. the rivers were just worms. they were bodies of worms instead of water. the angels barely noticed this change. they laughed and closed their eyes and made a mess of their palms. there were worms there, too. there were worms and angels. they were all fleshy.