Lay down, lay down, antlers fallen from
the crown. A king falls, a doe dies, and wise
the mouse who makes his house in the moss!
O the cost of this solitary life —
paid out in blood and mountaintops, the coin
of misunderstandings. The warbler
cannot understand the mockingbird’s
almost-speech. I’m tired. I’m talking in code.
The deer’s wild heart beats its mighty last.
This too shall pass. The vultures crack the bones.
by WHITECATGROVE
© All rights reserved 2025
dancing in the ruins of the dead divines
i smelled the earth after the first rain
no more crackle of grass in a lake like glass
near ashimmer with new possibilities
and i lumbered through pain
to free me from the chains
stomping on a skull in its ruined crown
i heard the sound of its gnashing teeth
a lesser antilles of emptied homilies
near ashameless with inert fragilities
and i forged through pain
to free me from the chains
flaming through the deep of waters parted
i roared the defiance of an open tomb
saved two of each kind of all souls to find
near asundered with reassembled symmetries
and i frolicked through pain
to free me from the chains
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023
unbolt me 