The Day of Bitter Retreat

The day of bitter retreat

Something about blood dimmed tide and rough hands
the sound of nattering insects and bone against bone
wet and thrush splatter as entrails fall free from open cavities
and and and and and and and and and and and and and and
more insistent rising, tides and undertow broken
like glass on a sandstone floor littered with sawdust and ash
the last of her lost in moaning wind and heat lightning
exquisite and rare against a cooling horizon that rushes
up at escape velocity to devour whatever shred of
memory remains. Is it bitter, the thing asks as the blood
runs like a naked river down its face and into the sand.

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1 Comment

  1. nattering. and i have dreamt something of similar bone tone. repeatedly.

    Like


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