Banshee

An inordinate number

unhinged at the join,

a murder, a magpie,

a scavenger, coin.

To terms they all come,

the harpy, the crone,

another adventurer, ardent

her throne.

Pull them apart

then together once more,

alive on the inside but

blood on the floor.

Screaming and scraping,

pillaging, spent.

Knocks on the door

pay the dues, not the rent.

A light in the swamp

alight from pie-pony,

she's shivering, shaking

accompliced and bony.

Once more through the pages

twist tissue and skin,

aligned with almighty

the line we walk, thin.

Fine light of ages

bury me please,

somewhere pedantic,

surrounded by trees.

Too-late apologies

burden her not

as she lies in deep slumber,

so precious, this spot.

The mighty have slipped now,

tumultuous praisers,

the back end of pencils

change quickly, erasers.

This banshee cries loudly,

her screams keep her clean,

nightmares a burden

of brain, betadine.

To love is an agony

Autumnal praise,

prose, peas, prosperity,

surrendered the maze.