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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