Follow the Dust

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a poem...

Submitted: December 03, 2006

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 03, 2006




Paper highways follow the

dust to nowhere.

I saw the face of God in

mangled roadkill.

I heard the Devil's voice

in the laughter of a child.

The world, infected with

concrete tumors and

bipedal lesions,

opens its trembling arms,

inviting the walking dead

into a peaceful tomb.

The catacombs await the

corpses unborn,

for theirs is the

Kingdom of Rot.

The universe sings with the

voice of a used-up whore,

raspy death-rattle sigh,

false pleasure laced with

bitter despair.

She waits for it to be over and done,

so the world can vomit forth another

gasping suicide disciple.

They all wander alone in

vacant crowds,

stumbling, falling.

They open their starving wallets,

and buy a seat in

suburban slave ships.

Dry, withered skeletons

wrapped in fragile, sagging skin

shuffle closer to the gaping

cemetery maw;

they wait for the

scavenger feast,

bringing only scraps

for the eager worms.

Broken cities lie buried under

cadaverous stains.

Spirits wander absently through

a clown's nightmare,

wailing in silent, ragged alleys,

  alone and unmade.

They exist in the forgotten nowhere,

where the paper highways lead.


Come follow the dust.

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