Hot Cross Scrape Wisdom
This is what you owe the dead."
Again and again.
Tendons stretched and strangled.
Face poured flesh from head.
A Family's ties are mengled like
mother falling out of dead.
This is what I know:
Blue faced efforts that fail to reveal the color of her
shadow.
My sense caught in a stone's throw and cleaner slates
that keep track of all the baggage I tow.
Scrape wisdom of the tomb.
Early morning scars from masks shed in favor of never, or
is it forever?
A mourning lost to secrets I'll never erase.
