under the boards.

we gather up the grease & wheels
& steal & spoke.
to the fire & to the water
like the smith's finest shank.
a solid, strong shadow
that swallows & wallows in
the loneliest of corners
where the spiders creep
& floor boards creek with each tiny trumble.
wither & spoon dig a stitch
in the flume & the smell is
all but bearable.
undressing the rot
& airing out sots
that stumble & mumble under the light & short order,
our husky, broken voices
sing of the holiest of murder.


-jack be nimble
jack be quick.
jack jumped, full of stone,
right off the bow of his ship.