dry rot ghosts/

©2021 Michael Raven

my dry rot fingers break to the bone
scraping against the brier sharp past
hammer me into shape
hack away the thorn
eyes clawed blind at the scenes
yet to come
inked and etched in scrimshaw
whale bone upon my heart
sigil sign talisman rhyme
glyphs black sunk into my skin

i see you sleeping there
mead mean dreams rising breast
kissing shadows, a pair of hands
dogs black eating kin
and the flames dying, glowing red
ravens circle overhead

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