It smells like you flayed a chestnut tree
and roasted its children
with its own flesh
on a cold winter mourning

The scent of charred skin
and toasted offspring
brings about the small demons
who crush the tiny bones
with their ***** claws
and feast on the infants
sliding down their filthy gullets

Its so cold that all the monsters
strip the cotton bare
and leave them to shiver
so that their plunder
of soft tuft
may be mashed
left out to thirst
and twisted
into a pretty new hide
for the little monsters

When their hot breath
caresses the cold air
poison
is pushed down the throat of plants and trees,
when they wake
they drown
and when they sleep
they freeze
and the little monsters in the yard
rip off their branches
to play a silly game
where the beasts die laughing
and the leaves
wilt and die
S L O W L Y