Dieing Dead

We have not seen

the dead in battalions, armies,

I want out, every

day. Searched for them in holes,

caves and hollows.

Then, way up, in a cliffside

pools, leading to a

waterfall, I saw the wretch.

Remora-like

fish, eating ideogram

into its legs,

crestings a casket with young

inside. The whole pool

filled to the rim with the dead.

I shuttered, looked down,

trying ti take a selfie

of myself, was a scared.

Looked up, the moon was trying

to ecipse the sun, blot its light.

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