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This house long in shadow
where
big coffin hunters, cheating wives
and the witchy women
are tethered next to cloned horses.

This house, that death has visited again
where
deerstalker hats are tilted back
and fat cigars curl smoke
around carnivorously grinning teeth.

This house, a child lies in bed,
where
while dreaming of throwing a turkey, beating her average,
the bedroom door swings opens unbid,
sending crystalline notes swaying up into the chill air of night.

This house, this temple, empty,
where
The Lord of Pain believes you are a warrior
but you are in fact an enemy
cast on the tides of time, lost.

A holy man, dead
buried in the valley
a crucifix in his chest and on his back
leaving behind the questions:
Who am I? Why am I here?

There is no answer in this empty house
long in shadow,
where death visits
and crystalline notes sway.

No answer from the child or big coffin hunter
or the witchy women
except cackles that smell of memory.

***

Inspired by Trifecta’s word of the week:
TURKEY
3: three successive strikes in bowling

This is a piece of found poetry, the influences were: The Dark Tower (graphic novel) Batman Under the Hood, and The Fall of Hyperion (Dan Simmons).

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