Death awaits.


Let there be death
waiting-
On chalice brink
to seep in
gulping lips
with drops drizzling
down seething seals
of sleeping pills.
Waiting.
While half-charred logs
barge in
etherized corpses
on mole hills.
And fire flutters
on disappearing brink
of parting lips.

There's death-
waiting.

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