LATE BLOOMERS a Poem by Steven Kilpatrick

These grovel churned damp soil to life. The flower off the grave

fans a nocent scent. That rises, lurks and stumbles like the rose.

Neighborly smiles borne flesh that’s torn—yet terribly craven.

These grovel churned damp soil to life. The flower off the grave

reanimates the starving. Drowned among rust shoveled waves.

Tollways of dust-trod-empty-feet dance death in body’s clothes.

These grovel churned damp soil to life. The flower off the grave

fans a nocent scent. That rises, lurks and stumbles like the rose.

...A proud native-born Texan, Steven Kilpatrick studies & writes from Denton, Texas. Danse Macabre welcomes his witching hour ink energy to our pages.