9.2.18

Siobhan Marie
Sep 2, 2018 · 1 min read

We rise in the cold before dawn

bones creaking awake in the dark

we bags of flesh hung on knotted wire

uncurl and uncoil coquettish,

moaning through blue lips a lament

for the morning, the new day.


loose bellies sliding to the sheets,

we are grotesque, gray

in the first slivers of morning

to break the horizon-

As night-corpses rising

From the loam.

Siobhan Marie
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