I crawled like a bug and dug
myself into the dirt,
sequestering myself from my “own,”
free from the surface,
deep in the dark
like night in a forest
I foraged, in the shadows
In search of a bodiless quiet.

Up above,
the skies rage with anger,
while down here, in the earth,
I’m free to roam, inching closer
to the cloister of a hermit hole,
a purity of isolation
like Christ in Gethsemane.
I’m safe here, eating the dirt,
while above “they” feed the ego.

Matthew J. Lawler is a poet and Chicago native. He has been published in numerous literary journals, including, The Miscreant, Sick Lit Magazine, Caravel, Visual Verse, Unlost, Tuck Magazine, People's Tribune, forthcoming in an anthology( The Best Emerging Poets of Illinois) by Z Publishing. He lives to write and writes to live. You can find him on Facebook at Read other articles by Matthew J..