Twelve
Skipping
backwards
It is
hard to believe
Mandrake
was once a man
Not
always a killer
Turned in
the industrial revolution
Casually
tossed aside
Invisible
like
And
turned by accident
Into a
infidel sea of dead bodies
Buried in
a carnage of feeling
Until his
neck was almost ripped away
And his
body drained of blood
His skin
feeling
Like
burned chimneys
Un-rhymed
in broken dreams
Forever autographed by the moon.
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