Turns

Unseemly wisps of tendril thoughts,
                         creeping in and sliding
slithering trails.
wafted ways, blown away caskets.

Open the earth, find dankness  
cold, crumbly damp clay
Rock hard, isn't it?

Trills of shrill laughter,
                          what lies simmering
and what bequeaths the turn
Make thee
Mine
staple to the walls

Trophies? Nay prizes
Take and display,
how many will abjure
                         and how many acquiesce,
Will they all be
as one and one for many

Slowly slipping
into quiescence
shallow breaths