Out among the bracken, the rocks and the dead fog has risen Covered with mud and dew. almost blinded by branches that stab through the cloak This used to be a forest Now it is damp ash, mould, d**h and bone Lured here by voices carried on winds that batter by howling and singing of drowning and final gasps, The chattering of the dead mesmerises and urges me to fall; to be trapped beneath the cloak. Spoiled in the bog. Breathing moss that fingers and joins one's blood that will flow to this ma** womb of lost, drifting, mad shadows.