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Bonetown; Here I Rest, And Cave by Lotté Jean


Mouths come to their end

speak only solemnly yet with fire tongues.

Dirt traps and privilege zones that fade.

An ego locked in a room, it’s leaking

analysing its body and textures,

I capture your throat like a delicate butterfly.

Rest on my stomach, eat you up.

Here we dug a grave,

here we shall let the sea kiss earth.

The door opens to that ocean.

We drip, a parasite and particle fly lightly

from this red room.

I soar to new delights.


I steal memories from the dead.

Ripping their departing skins

and absorbing the lessons,

that still reside in decaying bones.

It’s a scary thought, to lay so silent

as people take things from you.

A hand grasps around the failed heart.

‘I’m here to harvest rested thoughts.’

A whisper convinces themselves.

You want lessons, to move forward.

The dead can teach us things to avoid,

but you must not steal another’s journey

you won’t rest, you must scour your own living temple.

It awaits your tempted hands.


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