So. We sipped and sifted through superstition –
Sat upon a hollowed oak, no joke. Sap for the others, perched on ponderosa, so.
Smelled like vanilla, though.
They cheered – brought me to the arch of the foot –
rap-tap~chireet~pip-pip-tweet. {Call of the Codafowl}
And then the beating: drums and other. Jumped in – lynched out.
Never should that word be without contextual haunts. Mares of the night.
Thankfully there were only a few pledges. We all compared arches.

<< return