down by the waterway hidden in the brush of a

metabolist river feasting at the soil and the rotten

lamb

 

reeds sway by the lily pads with nature’s intricacies

crossing on the underside of a misplaced

branch

 

it rained only yesterday with the mildew spurting

near the willow—she points away away from the

mud

 

drowning the shape of a boot from the trail.

rust chips at a car door, glass sprinkled like

pumpernickel

 

breadcrumbs lost to eager ants carried away

as if lace flowing to the beat of forgotten

breeze

 

fogging up a crusted marshland lost

to leafy abyss and glovebox

maps.

 

hang up your crosses

light up your candles

 

don’t venture too far into

the boglands now.

 

hang up your crosses

light up your candles

 

now look away from

the torture of the broadcast.

 

deep into the dirt of the water,

how she swashes through in

bits

 

recent downpour masks the smell of

the blood seeped through holes of

lace

 

dress. off white dyed in barbarism and

sluggish filth brought forth in the

burial.

 

satanists and the outsiders

watch as the pitchforks

come closing in.

 

in the sunlight of a new morning

her dress flaps; a flag on a wooden

post

 

maintaining her eternal scream.