And if the bark on my skin has nothing left but dreaded sin
then leave me to rot.
Leave me to rot in silence and buried in anger
With the wretched harpsichord that plays in the dank
Everglades.
Project your forgotten souls upon me and let me sleep,
I’ll awake again when the sun is cold and the men lay as
corpses in the misty marshes.
And when the rain pours and the soles on my shoes are
crushed and swollen,
I will follow.
Course and dead siren songs,
I will follow like a brisk wind that fails to push forward
and a driven ass strewn by the road,
dead and decaying.
Souls,
ivory with non-flesh
and beating for what hollowness was never known.
Frozen,
untamed,
grim and unnamed.
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