The Bayou

The wails of a lonely banjo woke the candles.

                                                                                              Blinking

White

                                                                                                               Inferno

                                                                                       

                                                                                                                               Ripple

                                                                                                                                                The

                                                                                                                                                        Firmament.

                                                                                                BaYOU sirens

                                                                                 trudging through the mud.

Who are we

To disturb strings.

Hands climb the rainbow water. Smearing oil on the effluent. Fingers clutch the muddy sticks, demanding the swamp vomit. Bubbling mud pumped bodies and bicycles on wet

grass. The newborn corpse wrestled itself,

                         snapping its roots.      

                                 The sap of a stumbling tree drips down its nail.    

Extending its branches, it lunges for the bike.

Peeling the wheel, mauling the strings.

SNAP

Haze pours from the wires, drowning the string within.

           The newborn plunges itself in the oil, yearning to breathe.

 Drowning never works.

                                                The newborn inflated and popped from the water, bearing

                                                                                                                                                                         His

                                                                                                                                                                         Fathers

                                                                                                                                                                         Design.              

The beating of wet boots drums through the bog. The baYOU smells the fruit. Charcoal

                                                                                                                 Magnolias

Crackling within the steel evergreen.

The newborns tender skin is melting. Weeping could be seen from above. Reaching down to the reptile, slumbering below the waste. The newborn stands, but cannot move. Its legs are melting in place, with tunnels formed through the knees. Wax drips down the eyes, burning sap suffocates the leaves on his nose. He tries to howl for his father, but his wooden teeth grew their roots, wiring him shut. The caretaker steps out—a siren, cloaked in black, without face.

the lizard broke the womb

 It stretched its shapeless body, igniting the string in his mind. Rainbow wildfire sizzles down the candled corpse. Its dripping skin protruded the nails, digging roots deep below the mud. Chaining the reptile in death.

Struggling

Dropping

It let go

Surrendering

                 The

                         Banjo

                                      Below

                         

                                                      The

 

 

                                                                   Rock.

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AUTHORS NOTE:

Figured I’d treat yall to a spontaneous post before me and Stefan Baciu beat you to death soon. Enjoy