Here lies Martes Flavigula, eternally beneath the splintered earth.

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Poems -

Family and hecklers
alike have gone - so
I am the only audience
left for the gibbet and my
friend. A silent
breeze hums - so
I observe
He swings, remindful of
a clock: a tick tock he
heard all his life but -
no longer or - of
a bell: a ding a ling of
encroaching hunger
in a gesture of
empathy, I cut a hunk from
his thigh - so
my friend
can have a final
dinner with

Along with martens, goulish goats and the rippling fen -
these writings 1993-2023 by Bob Murry Shelton are licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

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