A lisp

a whispered hiss

With a gristle hustle

and a deathly shuffle

you wind your way

back home

There’s a twist

and a freakish glow

in a freak show

the decaying beat

of a drum

hiss

a whispered kiss

of a driveling fool

your hunting days

are done

this

flayed lantern skins

bones used as tools

a soup bowl

not a soup bowl

but

a human skull

© Kait King, 2015