Exhumation Game

One boot lies drying every day /in a muddy field, like a lotus, /like beef withers on a stick./Arise, from the depths of the house, /arise then, and we will see/  burns where they torched the foundation./Dead beams thwarted, rotting, flirt with fish underwater. /The mouth, it looks for refreshment,/ but there is  none/ out of rusted tin cans ,coaxing twin engines, /the most you can say is resilient;/  luring those still able /to their final  site in the golden years./ Panic before the time of drowning; /drowsy, an attempt to ladle/  fluid from a mudslide.

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