Riayn Spaero
SH ‘LL LIGHT H R OWN PYRE
As told by the vertebrae:
Wiles,
the pokeweed,
illness adapts.
Lost,
have we, roots to thwart
spoil.
Sternum
stunts,
like knuckles, cocked to teach
death
of maple and meat,
we miss no more
than prunes mourn
plum days. Hunger,
behind us, get thee! Hunger,
cast out. Hunger,
wrench, from viscera to pore,
a wom n no man summits,
lest his mouth hew
upon our breast
bone, fingers rend on wing
blade, or ash choke—
a thief we dare,
trespass,
swallow her ash,
sate these blades. Please,
try us. Friend,
hear h r laugh,
see h r gait
kindle devour,
pray
betray. Might we
snatch the errant wom n—
woodland danc r—
and to bone,
once more,
howl h r
flame.