Wounded Centipede


Nine knees scurry up Devil’s hillside whilst
bed heads haloed in heaven’s brilliance fling
roaring hearts towards Denka’s den.

Walls of cold stone silently sally forth by the
mottled bend to challenge our leprous band,
setting the stage for a war of discretion which
shall expose the contents of hesitant homes.

Winds that rattle callow keys embrace
this melting face.

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