Baby’s breath into the elm tree, a strange lady in rose heels, she is the crypt for there are no dreams; arresting, like death, to the apple–the serpent’s rictus;
with the body of the shore in vogue black moth wings / the moon tires to itself in half-living, half-death, the atrophy in dissolution undressed. Yes, undress me and see me;
twisted fingers darken the sanguine moon
blue in mindlessness,
shriveled and dying.
The arums fall, what do we do? In antediluvian blood, absence waits, arrayed—the frost whitens the bear’s cave. Her fallen hands catch the moon, smiting osprey eggs and digging up the rigors of star-death.
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Written for the dVerse prompt: Write a haibun that alludes to Halloween.
I listened to Still Ill by The Smiths while writing. It wouldn’t be a proper response to the prompt without sharing some of my muses.