August Poem 10: Rise and Fade

They of the long death.

Those bringing the death carpet.

The sulfur people.

 

They are the strange ones.

Ash and bone and polished shards

Woven in fabric.

 

They wear their beliefs

Like the gathers of their lands

Taken from the earth.

 

Chanting they swing. Their

Noxious censors billowing.

Staining the skies black.

 

Stagnant as Latin,

Sattva Casetti was dead.

Eighty-four and smoke.

 

The chugging machine

Of subtextually.

Her birthday or near.

 

We experienced

Fulfilling of prophecy

Ending the Red Death.

 

Covering bodies

In ash and fragrant spices

That burn and consume.

 

Smokes that rise and fade

Lifting the spirit, the dead

Giving safe passage.

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