• Flux Magazine

"Smoke" by Amanda Pape

Rain starved

We are no longer speaking

The ash piles grow like festering wounds

Walls of soot closing in

Clothing us in shrouds, opaque

All the spiders in rigor mortis 

left the flesh on my bones

Lying awake in the grave

I paid the ferryman

But there was no water

To float me down the river

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