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Jennifer Aug 2018
i see you, grave burrower,
from across the churchyard.
pointed ears, alert - afraid?
can you hear me breathing?

i know, grave burrower,
i know where you hide.
you hide under cracked stones
where decaying bodies lie.
i see your nose twitch, grave burrower,
can you smell the death?

your garden is bountiful, grave burrower,
it’s a beauty to behold.
how did you get it so beautiful -
are their roots cradled by bones?

i wonder if you see them, grave burrower,
smell them, feel them;
the spirits of the buried.
do you know something about death
that we don’t?

i know you see me, grave burrower,
from across the churchyard.
your wide eyes see in every direction.
can you see me staring?
Molly Barclay Feb 2011
Do I live here?
deep between the ripening caves of your teeth,
or the rips of soft flesh on your lips,
where I can fly within your bloodsteam, explore the cells and explode the angry immigrants.
Airborne visitors.
ring the doors of your iris and build a home in your bones,
I can make myself all half of you:
beating between heartbeats.

I can convince your brain never to end, or explore the terrors of the world,
keep you safe and live forever.
I can hear bears inside these caves, we will dance forever to the wild hum inside you,
playing drums and eating fruit.

— The End —