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.