09-27-2013, 11:11 AM
They take her down like a sandbag,
cutting the rope and letting her thud
on the copse's green, unyielding scalp.
She's not been dead long, still firm in breast and cunny.
"Better than anythin' money
can buy" chirps Mr. Wicke.
The undertaker tells himself not to let this beast alone
with her or any girl. The year was 1653,
and all across the wavey moors a tree,
a peak, a rock would serve
the Christian ends of girls and wives.
"Did you know 'er, Mr. Thwaite?"
The undertaker wipes his brow.
"No I didn't, Mr. Wicke; now get the wagon close".
The brighter eye of God hovers just behind the tree,
as badgers burrow furtively beneath her tender feet.
cutting the rope and letting her thud
on the copse's green, unyielding scalp.
She's not been dead long, still firm in breast and cunny.
"Better than anythin' money
can buy" chirps Mr. Wicke.
The undertaker tells himself not to let this beast alone
with her or any girl. The year was 1653,
and all across the wavey moors a tree,
a peak, a rock would serve
the Christian ends of girls and wives.
"Did you know 'er, Mr. Thwaite?"
The undertaker wipes his brow.
"No I didn't, Mr. Wicke; now get the wagon close".
The brighter eye of God hovers just behind the tree,
as badgers burrow furtively beneath her tender feet.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe