Skeletons swim
along Dead River Road,
those muddy banks
are their dark abode.
Fleshless jaws
do jibber and howl
and curse the grace
of a lonesome owl
who, watching, waiting spies
a bony feast with fleshless eyes
and swoops, and strikes
the burbling muck
and gets dragged down
when t’lost its luck.
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Author:
Fränz Müller (
Offline) - Published: April 4th, 2026 18:52
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
- Users favorite of this poem: Demar Desu - 德马尔·德苏

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Comments1
This was a fun one that stretched the mind. Good to see you again
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