Cut off hands crawl up the hill
Flesh stumps in search of a thrill
Leaving behind two blood trails
Severed wrists with long red tails
Fingers dig into wet soil
Like spider legs spooked from toil
Grasp at an old weathered root
Hoist up from a dead man’s soot
Crawl forward in search of prey
Ankles to clutch and to lay
Or roll as dismembered fists
As blood still squirts from their wrists
The hand balls knocking out rats
Those squealing blackened eyed brats
Crawling or rolling they come
The more you drink up your rum
Scurry up your back this night
And grip your throat much too tight
A lover’s touch turned dark cold
As nails dig into your mold
Scrape away your final scream
And tear open your soul’s seam
Not much left when they move on
Your flesh shredded before dawn
The cut off hands freed from hell
Leave behind nothing to tell
Michael Sean Erickson 