The Long Withering

This river is full of bodies, dead fish, dead fishermen. This river crumbles its banks, it invades in trickles, sluggishly it engulfs. Once it deeply flowed then death withered the water. The bodies, the dead fish, the fishermen, all float upon its turgid path. Where it goes no one knows, for its long journey is too slow, too polluted to measure. Only the dead now catch each other.