Could I hear in death your voice and your breath?

Graphite on paper. Scribble.

Tobacco cane smoulders between darkening skin
as tambourines touch
and pretty voices sound.

Blank breath drawn
killer sharpens her tongue,
pauses, and vomits yellow teeth.

Soldier white pages lay upon loose flesh
but slowly they find themselves being drenched in thoughtless black
that bloats and wields it's way onto the gradient.

Plastic caught beneath the tracks
leading to the shore where platted flowers hum over a stone cold bed,
sheets buried in the sand.
Bubble gum pink bubble popped. Dry.
Mind stretched and milk blood drawn from your sons and daughters,
their shoes untied. You smile.

Gargoyles drag carcasses from an empty sea,
there my head rests. Cryptic.
Entombed. DB.