The bloody-mindedness of dragging a body
through stone and grit. What if
it’s found – stench tempting quick mouths as
weeks seep like mist across the moors.

Two puncture wounds to the throat.
Still warm, still, warm. It could be sleeping
on that pillow of moss. Soft carcass folded
against a crumpled can of Coke.

 

 

*
From Magma 91, In The Flesh 

 

Buy this issue for £8.50 in UK (including P&P) »Buy Now