Dubh Abhainn Blackburn

Poem By Michael Witkowski

Yawning at the brook
of my last stand
the burn whspers
coolly between stanes
dragging with him
earth of the lush braes
i watch my demise
full control swept
a gun to the throat
yearn yearn my fate
is fulfillled to the bitter
core - hands splashed
with sticky wine
rise to heavens -leaving
a prayer to the
doop doop singer.
i like it loud. a whimsical
coy churl spent all
seeds in disgrace
now i'm endowed
with a gown

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