I ignore the rusted drum,
sit by the water,
and flip the Riverside open.
When my eyes begin to hurt -
I go for a Walk,
down a path twisted in vine,
find the tuffs before I find the bones.
Ivory licked clean months after -
She lay down to die alone,
the Portal of her eye,
open to the thumbnail moon.
In the cavity of her skull -
I am not afraid of the wolves,
nor these bones alone,
but the rusted drum at my back
Terrifies me.
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