Sunday 10 March 2019

Black water

Black water

The wind dropped through the curtain as feral as a wet cat,
the dead dog in the soaking sack, cadaverine to high heaven,
remained bobbing lifeless and swollen in the squinting lake 
that lapped at all the lies left by the retreating silhouettes.
The closing doors of night, one after the other, slammed shut
before anyone passed into the knowledge of an evil,
evil enough to freeze the blood. Teeth chattered. 




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