Death-song

my hair
bathed in snake's oil under pink moon
my skin
a blasphemy of brine
from slaughtered bones & tusks
watch me
glide wearing the red
crown of destruction

count your hours
because i will smother your every
breath
weigh your coins & fancy
clothes because i will empty every
streets & buildings you have polka-stamped
your name

i will slither-slit
lungs of your weakest lot & then
i will come for
you

the death-song
pealing in your marbled churches-
the nightmare-beast
clawing your heart to stillness-

you own nothing
in this plague of war
but a mote of dust
leave me
alone
until my very own children

come
& kill me


Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics, in the time of the plague, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  Pub doors open by 3pm EST.