Articulate Skulls

Each gulp of death casts its moment

deep into gullies, gaps like torrents

easing into place; appeasing this space

with the rhythms exchange, not long dormant

when economy cries outwards, twisted in toes

yet thriving in skeleton: articulate skulls

yet diving through mountains, in love still

with the pits that horde ‘gainst movements’ will.

With hits from gourds, with stores still closed:

who will stock our future with fees disposed?