beachside/

winter words
chill bones rattle under
tombstones buried in ice
pale green we are,
winds blowing through & over
& into consuming flesh frozen

i heard a rumor:
it wasn't love but spite
that drove the frost
into that bone, spiked
daggerknife to the heart
of dark tides

let us not speak in riddles
nor in rhyme
~ i hate rhyme ~ i heard him say
and corvids never cut,
but rend
tearing away the masks & shame
laying bare bone to rot
in the rain 

descent
the underground beckons
so the trumps are sounded 
& gates cast wide
walk with me talk with me
hold this withered hand
corrupt tainted black
speak of other times
buried in the cloak of grief
so much bone
bleached, dry, an ogre feast
washed on the beach
of glassine eyes
staring upwards for another
sunrise
despising
those with 
the sharp vagaries of wit