A rough-hewn tunic, weft of guile and warp of sneering cynic
girded by a gilded serpent plumed and rendered skeptic.
Sandals soled in ropes of slurs conjoined and thus here given
for this one day and night each year when dead souls shall be risen.
I’ve waffled whether to post this all day. It started as a response to the WordPress Daily Prompt and immediately slid into an underworld I don’t want to be a part of. I’m not even sure it’s a finished poem. But it’s late here, and I’ve been convinced by foreign forces that I should post it.
(The prompt: Masks Off – We’re less than a week away from Halloween! If you had to design a costume that channeled your true, innermost self, what would that costume look like? Would you dare to wear it?)