A beach with no sands invites crashing waves,

All frothy white on falling crests,

Elongated tapered footprints smudged into sprawling enclaves,

Howls of the possessed…


Shallow valleys between squashed mountains,

Awash with green that holds no sound,

Battle fields where there was once shouting,

Fertile with blood that soaks the ground…


A setting sun with setting done,

Paler than a perfect full moon that came up too soon,

That writhing moth in a web cunningly spun,

Feels the gloom that precedes the doom…


A fabulously bitten nail on a crooked first finger,

Scratches nothing that’s ill considered,

At the base of a peppered toadstool something lingers,

A shadow that somehow differed…


One response to “Inner

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