Maple Mc Glinchey Poet Free verse

Zilch-Chapter 4-Ash

One, two, three, angled
Toes, fingers, teeth, mangled
"We WiLl bE fReE tO FiNaLlY sEe!"
The stomach's foot wriggles with glee

Amalgamation is the only way
Our Smith knows and begins to pray
No warning mouthed before the clasp
Gluttonous gloop scoops the foot in a grasp

Triple digits move swiftly and quick
The Stars lucky they are not here to see sick
Lashings, fingerings, scars and rot
Devoured by a trap the other sought

"HoW cOuLd YoU? wE WeRe pRoMiSed fuel...?"
The question dwindles, quiet and cruel
As our Smith digests, then takes a rest
And soon hears, newly, a crackling crest

Further over into the dark
We who have eyes see it stark
A fierce Furnace, the Fire's Cot
Where many Names are burned and forgot.

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