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Nov 2013
Hyde of leather and eyes of dirt
No blood, no fluids
just ancient bronzed bones
The dead man moans
with a dried mummified tongue
sealed in a mouth of maggot breath
Dust plumes outward like smoke
with every gargled holler
Every step sounding like
a crumpling paper bag
He walks, he stumbles, drunk
back into the shadows
Zach Claycomb
Written by
Zach Claycomb  Pennsylvania
(Pennsylvania)   
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