Thorn throated widow led me
to a riverside graveyard.
Cemented her curse in my mouth,
screeched for my eyesu2019 dirt.

Drowned from pulse and spirit.
Engulfed in a decayed cricku2019s basement.
Under stroke, under sore, under sermon.

Pregnant with the flood,
creating tokophobic women.

Houses crack bones
and I crack waters.
Howls are alive in waves.

Stalking lacerated tree trunks and dead stones.
Sifting through lost and found caskets
ransacking for another to haunt rills.