Spun Gold

Turn your spun gold
into spiderwebs.
Leave them out and see
what you catch.

Get out your newspaper & spy glass to
Burn the bodies in the basement.
It’s no use
Trying to
Force life into the dead;
They may yet
Feel your breath
Ripple their shadowed limbs
like moonlight on the sea

If you find yourself sifting
through ember and ashes,
Desperate for a emblem
of the history you singed,
Sing the song of remembrance
Your grandmothers gave you,
Resurrect the sleeping ancestors
Tucked beneath your skin.

Pluck your prey
from sticky strands
the color of some
sunlit straw

and release them
into morning,
to the unfolding
of the dawn.



The beginning to this one popped into my head the other day, melody and all. The creative process is pretty damn interesting.


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