06 September 2010
You don't know about me, but the river knows.
And when it snows, the vultures know.
They know of carrion frosty beneath the hardened earth
They know the sound of cold steel shovels turning dirt.
The vultures know of windy places where the trees are dead
Where if you close your eyes, the birds will take your head.
Where branches claw for skin and stone is cold and wet,
that's where the vultures take you if you can't escape their net.
In the forest there are arches, but the third is a lie
beneath the king key stone one false step and you die
Bone is white is white as snow
and colder is night is night than you'll know
softer is death is death than you think.
Where the vultures wheel, blood flows like ink.
Carry On Tuesday
This is an ante-dated post. My apologies. The internet was down and so I had to wait to post it.