the trees lean together
conspiratorially
branches scraping
scabrous digits clawing
through the fetid air
left a trail of
breadcrumbs yet only
managed a flock of
sparrows that peck as
the trunks slowly
swallow any sight
of potential freedom
the north star spins
around the bored face of
lunar boredoms drawn
in cratered sorrows
impacted by debris so
casually cast into the icy
nothingness of space

half expecting to find
a cabin of candied delight
a warm fire with a
fetching woman long given
in to the call of the
wild magicks that flow
in insolent spectacle
through the ivory bones
of skeletal visionaries
crying out as the warm
wind of spring whistles
through gaping eye sockets
staring blindly back at
a world that only sees
atrocities in the mislabeled
name of love hiding a
sinister undercurrent of
inescapable ravenous needs
clawing at the unseen skies
a forest of revenants
hungering for the warmth
of flesh torn between the
gnashing teeth of time