By mmxnon | Nocht Flur | 17 Apr 2021

Bones, my bones - 

unburied bones, battered bones, bird bones 

Bones collected, reconnected, rearranged, 

And the body - strange. 


Light blooms a yellow skeletal girl, 

lying on a yellow skeletal bed: 

how long has she lain there in her darkened bedroom, 

wide-eyed, wonder-eyed with her own synaptic snap, 

her electric unbending? 


Take her hand in yours, 

feel her skin cold, her leech-heat, 

feel sleep slip beneath her skin, 

slip to her brains, slip to her guts, 

slip her away to dreaming. 

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Probably not Mothman, but can anyone prove it?

Nocht Flur
Nocht Flur

Journalist. Novelist. Poet. Moss-draped bog creature.

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