en passant

don’t go that road
said baleful archibald

the dykes
are wick with corpses
and the ravens
fat

if you get past
the ring o bells
where sup
the resurrection men
and lodge
morticians
with their half-starved nags
you’ll reach
the kennels
of the wolf-eyed dogs
that hunt
on nights when
moon is on the wane

i said
there is
no other way