Dixon No. 2
feasting on word flesh
it picks soul bones
at midnight
drags meaning across
pages
smearing intent
like roadkill
picking locks on doors
better left shut
but we
we who write
we don’t look
just grip tighter
let it move
let it reveal
play Ouija with
ourselves
it is only the instrument
we the instruction
One thought on "Dixon No. 2"
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No moving away from these lines after I read the first three.
You stay with the thought, develop it, give it as a gift to the reader. Super work.