the scum of summer kill lies in the plot

as peat and rot do lie within the bog

as hidden finch that twitch when it is shot

or crow that has no end in autumn fog


the stranger’s soft strewn skin is curdled cream

with maggots trailing kisses on her neck

as she had done upon my midnight dreams

but now she’s left in pieces of a wreck


the scum of summer has no fruit to bear

so let my vultures pick and prey upon

her tired cheeks, while i run through her hair

and gaze back on the lips i sang along


yes,  life and love far gone and wings deprived

but even dead she makes me feel alive

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