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Salvage

June 17, 2017

onehundredandsixtythree

Blackened is the banner.
Torn and barbed.
Dragged into sunlight.
Flown above a field of orchids.
A sluice of wire and acid.
Serve the flesh of tyrants.
Suffer the will of shades.

Beggars bear the standard.
Broken glass in the heel.
Rotten in the gum.
A skeleton marching.
Pinned by rods.
Raised on frayed ropes.
Points of partial articulation.
A battery in the eye of a God.

A horn sounding.
An angel’s mouth.
Open in horror.
The tiny bones of broken wings.
Drift like atomic snow.
Marched into the sea.
Beneath a storm.
A tomb of rain and sand.
Blackened is the skin of the drum.
That calls the Seven Lords.

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From → Poetry

One Comment
  1. Love it! Great stuff! You’ve got my follow. Check out my comedy blog and give it a follow if you like it!

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