I see shadows at the base of the camp/eyes bitter as ice/ankles/rough manacles clattering in the forlorn wind/it is dawn/& the journey wanes from sole to lips/we as beggared as bowls/the sky oils itself yellow/a brush stroke/haphazard/beauty eternal/the birds are silent with cruel eyes/their feathers stiffer than death/what is this place that rots the soul?/where have we fetched our bones?/the falls into sludge/scrapes humility from the humus/& the raiment of revenants covers all from the sharp steel in our flesh/I'm one of the fevered eyes staring at the gate/claws stretched forth like loose bullets/I wait the others/the ripe smell wafting from the fell kitchen of skin scouring the morning sun/if any morning still remained/they came/the answer/white as sin/crosses stretched across flesh like a prayer/a dead priesthood of some forgotten god/they came/a prophecy/& in their hands/they held the will of fire/& their teeth were filed for war/the river was pregnant/river grass pinching through the ripples/like breathing tubes of fish lungs/hiding skin from the debacle/I spoke the name of all the fallen/each one/a brother/a sister/& with blood/sanctified our faith into something feral/when the drums trembles beneath unclean fingers/& machetes open wrists & throats to the last flare of the sun/we made the deepest well/& from its sulphur stink/we unleashed our deepest fear.
I still experiment with words, whenever I remember to breathe.
Yours always,
Osahon (warpedpoetic)
