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What the Doomsayers Said

by J S Clark

Bones slept within other skin,

broke out with a great jangling,

& lovers frayed their hands. Trees

rose, stilt-like, into the winds.

 

Cracks of earthquakes skiffed

about the waves of their bloated

underthings. Shuttled about so,

& content, this was the shift.

 

Our hands stroked the open page

until the bugs pumped salival

and self-jellied cables of retch

into the shelves. & we breed

 

pastless children. & we bleed

them, not for the new hunger—

but for that pleasure of sorrow.

We protested, placed opinions.

 

We set branch & metal as snares,

as surrender, but none responded.

& we wondered when it ended.

Then as the stars went as sallow,

 

crippling themselves, the ravens

pecked where we were getting sick.

But at least we knew our gallows.

 

JS Clark’s writing has appeared in Brickplight, OFF BY EIGHTY, News From Nowhere, The Zine, Section 8 Magazine, and The Best American Poetry blog. He lives in Laramie.

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