they have
come to wire my soul
these voices
that are
calling me
that are telling me
to throw bones
they
say
they
want
all
the scattered
pieces
of decay
to
be hanging
in
the damp
cold
tannin bloom
just
outside
the
back door
decorate,
decorate
open
the crates
they
say remember
the
odd pumpkins
and
the window sill
faces
to be made
candles
to spades
the
fresh graves
smell
best in Autumn
you
succumb
more
gallantly
to
the ends of things
when
leaves fall
and
you listen
to
what is calling
through
the dark
on
your way home
at
night
you
wonder
when
you listen
to
all the sounds
their knives take
to
the rain
when
might it be
Dawn
again
when
can you stop
their bleeding
inside you
EJR
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