monostich – Page 95 – elancharan gunasekaran

the harvest never ends some bones hum others curl like dried leaves

sickle slicing trails of smoke the shaman reaps dead end futures from your soul’s web

the bard sings of dark waters of undeen and the hero who freed her from an eternal nightmare

from stone to mist to bone under the new moon we meet wild things shifting in the shadows

charred bodies of flesh stand still with bowls filled with black dew and silence

the forge burns with the blood of forests and hammers to bludgeon fashioned after moss

pilgrims throw nets at the clouds only catching the blistering nuance of silence

the druidic spell misfires and flesh fuses with decaying matter transforming into a throne for all manner of fungi and maggots

the starbeast wakes and stretches its synthetic jaws made from the bones of a meteor

entire generations disintegrate and displaced by rising salt winds