Western isles

 

the bloat of a dead whale

jagged on a boulder field

gulls breaking skinshell

of flesh mines

overhead the guttural honk

of an unkindness sail in for death psalms

carcass warriers built for digging

they have no time for voyeurs

but in the eye-darks cunning the riddle of flesh

we are all prey

 

 

 

 

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