ENTRAILS
- Mar 21, 2024
- 1 min read
By Erika Jane
Leave me gutted
A grisly mess of flesh and bone
Bespoke scars a staple
To this home of ligaments
A heartbeat
A forgotten tone
Move my entrails
In a pattern on this cold Cotswold stone
And foretell a fortune
Bequeathed to none
But the bloodied
Wetted entrails
That were once my own