Raw Mojo Poem by Andrew James Murray

The bleak, blushes of dusk. A Highland wind
licks at a heart, wrapped in leaves.
Buried beneath a pine cone, needles.

Drink 'til I can drink no more;
just watch the dead
impose in plagues.

A girl, dark, unfamiliar,
dares to draw the focus
of these phantom scarred eyes,
blood rushing in her alluring anonymity.

A taste of ash, I eat my father.
I am an amalgamation
of anecdote and mannerism.
Assimilated slow and left to boil.

Magisterial day. Insouciant night.
Sin suggests an arbitrator.
I need a new translation,
from the prophet's native tongue.