The mistake on the lake

The whispers of bulrushes part and clear a way
A pathetic trail along the Erie fringes
To back doors hanging on rusty hinges
Invitations of an urban decay

When the meat is still fresh
Only portions under gravity
Show dependency
the divinity of flesh
Bluish purple acidity
Blood lost to lividity
Clasping for warmth in rigid livor

In the shadow of a lake

long forgot like shivers spooling
Dreams lost to years of algor cooling
The smell of ammonia our factories make
Like little box homes. Microwaves. Mistakes.

Organisms move rhythmic pulsing beasts
Autolysis. Aerobics. A chance to feast

She looks up at the synthetic lights
Grey clouds amass these hungry blowflies
Oviposition her promised promotion
In the putrefaction – a premonition
of stage 1 decomposition

Through the eyes of the storm
I just drive. I’ll just ride
You want me to get high
To get low like the alone
Rigor Mortis for food, payment to atone

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