life giver

The Parched Tongue

Raised the cedar wood bowl and

Drank from me,

Until day Flooded into night.

I had twisted and contorted myself

Out of my original shape 

To become something else.

A sheared animal pelt, 

Dead skin hanging off your back.

There was a sourness in the air that settled,

Rotted fruit,

Fog-like, thick and heavy. 

It irritated my throat, 

Left the gut and kidneys restless.

I want to remain sedentary,

Dimly lit.

I built a mammoth bone house where the dead are buried underground.

Still they linger within the tremble of my knees.