deadman’s mouth harp

walking along a bitumen shoulder

‘round the witching hour

it comes through the darkness

an unwelcome companion

that levels the grass and foliage,

a whistle

like a crystal spear

cuts the stillness into fine pieces

a maiden carried in the wind

sultry, yet hollow,

a tune from a deadman’s mouth harp

a cry that follows the night

chilled and evil

it echoes the little spirits in the breeze

black lips and diamond teeth

it strays beyond the ebony cover of sky

spat out of a deadman’s mouth harp,

played over and over

a monotone symphony

from the tired beast

of damned and lonely eternity