Summer 2009
Table of Contents - Vol. V, No. 2
Poetry Essays Translations Fiction
Erik Richardson
maimed, crippled poems lie in the dark
behind bookshelves or crushed beneath
the shuffling tread of days
I remember wrapping the bones
with pieces of flesh peeled and ragged
still incomplete
the stench of the dead
must be covered up, hidden, buried
under cracks in the surface
ghosts rise at midnight some nights
my scars start to itch, voices whisper
I will come undone
© Erik Richardson