past the wood
where witches lie,
past the slaughter house
and pig sty,
jawbones and teeth
rot on the floor,
I dare not open
the cellar door,
the master he rests
with blooded hands,
he’s cut the throats
of the goose and lambs,
he baits the badgers
and cuts off their heads
dances with serpents
in his taxidermist shed,
the mans a bastard
his heart pumps lead,
he gets his kicks
from
redressing
the
dead
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