blood bath in the scrub.

the karmic loop continues. for the record it does not skip. death and birth in a morning. my cramped stomach imitates the house.

neck streched and feathers parted. we remove every trace of life. lines are drawn in the sand as we cover the traces of blood.

my siblings sing of changes. corpses line conversation at home and away. the dead horse we're floggin turns sacraficial. even this we do not share.

flushed and brushed and wind pipe removed. i am counting down the days. consideration and observation as a prelude to desire transformed.