The Maunders of St. Gabriel Street

Damp, gnarled toes–partially unclothed–dangle
off of crumbling curbs.  One by one, flames are
extinguished as far as the eye can see.

Oblivion–the golden coin given in exchange for
fulgent constancy–is most toothsome at dawn,
when voiceless revenants creep softly over sheer,
sunken cheeks, entirely unacquainted with the
lustrous and hallowed oils that shall sanctify
this sunrise.

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