The scent of castaways grows keener:
An aliajactate rattling of bones
Tremulous on its own tympanum
Deafens all but the white-eyed.
How came you here, you last of
The kinless tribe?? What unpiped
Melodies drew you to lands so barren
Of desire that even rats perish
With dreams unfulfilled and scarce
Tradeable for beans or molehills??
My wanderings are not yours.
The day will not beset me while
I have the thicker blood of those
Who spawned your millenial dilutions:
A liqueur I can share with nights more
Resonant than were felt by any idol
You have graven. Look well. You are
Mirrored in the the pooled bile of
- David W. Mitchell