Maybe I Should Stick to Prose: 8 – The Heavy

13 May

The Heavy

Bones laced through opened skin
rushing the frozen waters
to stream from the fall
ragged threads bound to sweat
still warm.

With burning screams the shadows stand erect,
stretched tall in posed, emptied triumph
and watch with wagging tongue
the painted faces surrounding
as wolves do waiting from far
to tear away marrow with dripping jaws.

Time twisted across the sunken smile
dusted across the softened faces
fallen into an unwakeable slumber
in the boughs of the blood-rusted crook
as they sway beneath the heavy
weightless, tapping wicked trees.


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