...living haunt...

spells rain
the hardest dew around the frailest parts
there is a whisper
and it tells
that the holder of this storms eye
is the
weakness maker
the flailer of flesh’s ghosts
the deal breaker

there were cries asking before this
demands made on the evening turned crisp light of morn
whole
unnoticed
lives
wagging their spit-tongues at night's edge

i do not want this
i never wanted

and the breaks of bright come in like the old fire that they are
gold hot and crammed with stories told rifle first
clipped by errand runners from news stands ago
there rises an iron pride
against the mass
the flailer of flesh’s ghosts
the godly made crass

those who held hard healed slow
died young
pressed by the invisible
hand
of
everything

the arranging of voids to form needs

once more she expels in earnest
i do not want this
i never wanted

this

-05