MUSED
BellaOnline Literary Review
Drone Fly by Mark Berkery

Poetry


Spelunker

Holly Day

quiet church lies beneath
the marching
feet of men, a candle mass
that leads the blind fish on. I donít know
how long Iíve sat here, listening to
the drip of water, Iím

turning to stone, inside out.

winged choirs of bats flutter up
above, their nail-head eyes waiting for me
to fall asleep. so
I stay awake. I sit here, trying to see
their furry bodies, thick smears of blood
against the night.

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Summer Solstice 2012 Table of Contents