Admixture in October
The burymen sit smokng and contemplating
Their new dig. It is a musty morning fog
They rest in. Then as they dig
They hit a hard hand, with curling nails twitching crust.
It is the Beast.
The creature now stands up through the tenuous dirt
And coughs a laugh at them.
No man, I am. I am no man. Its one eye spreads,
Spouting obscenities: he is Polyblasphemus.
The arms entangle the two and rife with horror
Tears them to shreds. Blood flies across the tired moor.
It is All Hollow's Eve. The fortelling was true.
What are gravedigers to do tonight,
Except call in with a vicious cough of their own?
Stan Petrovich's Other Poems
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Admixture in October by Stan Petrovich )
- The Rest, Frank Avon
- The kingdom, gajanan mishra
- The Headland Wreck, David Lewis Paget
- THE MIND OF POET, Kashif khan
- Spiritually Bound, Michael McParland
- Sky is red, Aftab Alam
- Musings., Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- TRUST, maharshi trivedi
- Alone in December, James Anthony Creamer
- Mind Albums, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
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