Inspired by Joan Baez’s incisive “Little Green Worm,”
which anatomises a single conscience consumed by moral
decay, The Symphony of the Worms extends her vision to
the collective: the network of complicity, the chorus
of ambition and fear that sustains corruption. Where
Baez’s worm feasts on empathy and reason in one mind,
this poem tracks the worms as they orchestrate an
entire society, revealing how moral rot spreads beyond
the individual to the institutions and crowds that
applaud it. Sharp, satirical, and unflinching, it is
a poetic answer, a continuation of her diagnosis, and
a requiem for reason in the key of rot.

It started with one green worm,

then came the orchestra.

A brass section of blind ambition,

a percussion line of panic,

a swelling chorus of yes-men

all wriggling in 4/4 time.

The conductor sits in his golden chair,

baton raised over a hollow skull,

keeping tempo with the heartbeat

of a nation gone tone-deaf.

The worms have made themselves at home.

They’ve redecorated the anterior insula—

tore out the empathy,

hung mirrors instead.

Now, when you look for compassion,

you only see applause.

Next stop: the prefrontal cortex.

They love it there—

so many soft walls,

so little resistance.

They dance through the synapses,

chanting slogans about freedom

while gnawing on restraint.

Impulse became policy.

Greed became gospel.

And truth—poor truth—

was found twitching in the corner,

half-eaten and still apologizing.

By the time they reached the cerebrum,

they expected a feast.

But found only echoes—

the kind that shout “winner!”

into an empty hall.

And still the worms play on,

a writhing pit orchestra

for the empire of decay.

They call it leadership.

The crowd calls it strength.

The rest of us,

ears bleeding from the anthem,

call it what it is:

a requiem for reason,

in the key of rot.