The Empty Cell
The Butcher is dead.
His meat decayed bones
broken
burned
buried
now waiting
for him to follow.
His cell is empty
waiting gravely
for those
whose meat
is fresh
blood
and bones
broken
burned
buried
sometimes in rubble
always in the rubble of words.
So we wait
wanting
them
to be unearthed
the earth
made empty
as the cell
waiting
for the ones
who are chosen.

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