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Poet Jack on MonsterQuest

By C. L. Liedekev

I had no idea how you died. Not
 sure if the disease took you
 or why you liked me. Your strange
 grace hung along side your
 stories of those sewer rats
 you loved to kill. All hairy
 and lover mad, you gave them
 back stories, back stabbings
 in the July heat, their teeth
 locked in an eternal thieves’ cant.
 You forgave everyone of them
 as you pinched their broken
 necks from each trap. You
 help your edged fingers up, wet
 sticks holding a errant child. You
 knew their survival, you knew the
 scrabble of bare toes on wood,
 the rope of muscle left
 in each carcass. How each
 dead body grew towards myth
 and once or twice, you imagined
 the metal on your own neck,
 the halo snap, the grasp
 as heavy as life, as heavy as poems,
 heavy as the suit that draped
 you, gray skinned, cheeks deep
 as a grave. I never went to
 your funeral, don’t know your
 ashes by name, but their you are
 my TV forever talking about giant
 New York rats.

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