Your staff chips away at the exterior as you knock for attention
your feet cemented within the sand that runs past you
your cloak not as black as the stories tell
your hood replaced by a cap and grin
I hear the sandman is your stepfather
and he carries nightmares in his bag
your lies don’t cloud the sky as I thought they would
instead they sit on the branches that birds perch on
singing pleasantly a note to you
come to me dear death and wrap your barbed wire around my neck
there’s a mist surrounding your name
Death
some seems to silence at the mention of it
other ring praises of your past from within the town
are they trying to convince me or you?
your hands cup my arm
and your lips slice mine open
there is something about you that makes the dogs howl
a silent whistle of warning no women can hear
the men of the village avoid you
but if they are found in the same drinking hole as you
they shower you with vodka
are they scared of you or do they admire you?
what stories you must tell before their hour is up
REDSMITHS and ROBINS 