Cold Death
- by Linn Barnes
Cold Death
-Linn Barnes
we rot while we wait
for guidance from nowhere
while the blood crashes through
the dams flooding the valleys
the plains fields the ditches
around the fucking corner
up to the front door
where the lock rusted fuck
that it is will not hold back
the shouldered nudge
now come creeping into
the lost locker of cold death
stinking up the pathways
to when things should
no longer matter
but somehow still do