Sound Bitten

Set thick
And then slowly
Chiselled from malice,

High on the nutrition
Of curdled histories
And afflictions,

There’s a will in the minds
Of these heathens.

Knocked down,
They get up

They kick out and bring rage
Like wild dogs fighting shadows,

Ravaged sallow and embattled
All leathered, feral and bedraggled,

The kind that like to
Dream of gallows.

Hear the new chants
Of these sound bitten unnaturals,

Smearing blood on their
Monogrammed handkerchiefs,

Presents from grandparents
Who spent their lives growling
And then died in a huff,

Pulled from pockets
Stained with promises fished
From dirty rivers weaving
Through lost towns,

They sup excuses like zoo goats on bottles,
Gloved hands smearing their lips clean,

They make audible ahhs,
They meet up in the dark

And we still don’t know all of their names.

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