How the Family was Killed Will Probably Never Be Known
May 30, 2021
Black birds of the branch
A knot in line
Four legged
The stinger sets
Quill prickle
Tendril fleshed out
And bristling
Sweat of the lumbering momentum of fear
At some point it’s just me
My companion phasing in and out of reality
What’s in being
But a there, tethering
Like a bell’s ring or a wind singing
Help is the holler of a ghostly shell
Crisis is the company we keep
Chaos and the other
Each and another
One upon thither
Fleeting spirit
