Caprine Pike

Here dance the husks

the husks of men

They dance through flames

they burn to ash

And drums they thump

The goat-skin drums

Tambourine shake

drums they thump

The fire roars

The fire cracks

Like beetle wings

crack

Shadows tall

The shadows of men

Cinder bespeckled

a dark-led dance

Mottled mothwing

Strangled halitus

This ill wind,

What horror.

Leaves, they spin

In dusk

they glide, they whirl

too dry to rot

To ash, to star

All fall down, to rust

Nothing left

to burn.

There it goes, the dust

There goes the dust

Away, the dust

It’s gone

To dusk-woven death

it’s gone.

 

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