You spent your whole life absent. Alone in
Your chair facing the void. I chiseled our
Initials on the hangman’s tree, so well
Centered in a dead wood where ravens come
To peck the eyes of the children rotting.
The desiccated heart, the tool of the
Patriarchy, bringing down symbols in
Trees. Text messages, the reliquary
Bringing down the gates. Cracking the iron
Bands. The heart, a ghostly rose. Trembling in
The temple of the black demon. Amid
The carnage, sated on the hill stood the
Carrion beasts in full repose. A quick
Sputter of movement arose flapping wings.
therichardbraxton 