John Moore Williams



scarred trunks waver, glottal. soft spoors, dew-starred, unfurl in the still. the stolid barrows fallow silent. the breaths


across the fibrous stalks of fungus-furred moors. that were once of old
growthscar left of old; the trunks gasp hardstop. chitinfeet drum soft belts of tracks; the webvomit up—silk grappling hooks to draw
the hornshells lapse to soil. the cornhusk poppet drools her saccharine sap upon the scars

thunder rushes insubstantial tides against
the great lead sheet earth sleeps

beneath the stolid barrows fallow silent. the cornhusk scrapes the sap. wolf cubs and old crows circle closed with magnetic amber eyes, drawing the bloodsap back to earth. they accrue, metastasize, rippling fur and bloodsquirm

the soil’s peristaltic shudder looses mewls and ululations from starvelings on the prowl. the poppet draws her silk across the dully shining scar. the lesions shiver loose and the tree begins to fledge. now the scar begins again to feel the breaths   

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