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by Z.D. Dicks


I lay amongst the dead     with brittle spines

no smell of decay     carried from their tomb

but there’s dust in them     that worms down

rib cage     I unfold them and sputter     spread

them flat     incant and commune with the dead


My throat itches with the words     half mumbled

to not disturb     those above     this mausoleum

raided in the night     I recite a spell     with odd

syntax     annunciating through closed teeth


I follow the lines of their bodies     pass index

finger over gorse bones     scuff the bleached

innards     and trace the fissures of mortal

wounds     calcified in precise breaks


At twelve     I finish resurrecting champions

scholars and philosophers     questions

answered     I slam shut my tomes     send poets

back to death     and hear their tones in silence

knowing     I will haunt from pages soon

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