Respected skald of sorcery spills
words from her mouth, bone dancer
who suckles to an overflow of spells.
Her soft-bellied chant takes me to the
edge of darkness, avoiding vat of carrion,
foul stench of once alive.
I shivered in my flesh to that internal indenture,
calling up a deal with the devil, trying to
mitigate my sins.
I ponder whether to clothe old bones with new
flesh, but when I look for mother-of-pearl,
what stares back are ancient, blue-veined
hands.
As the benefactor of my own life I’ve resided
to go to hell my way, because soon
enough I’ll come to know to die is different
from what anyone supposes.
paulygrl ©
