
moonlight bleaches
the broken bones
that lie scattered
on shattered dirt.
the ghosts linger
on the window panes,
where the curtains billow
in curdled breaths;
the rooms are stale
despite the breezes.
their spirits freeze,
sitting on tombstones.
praying
for the sweet suffocation
of human flesh.
on the flowers don't grow here
anymore;
yet the poison ivy thrives.












21 old applause
