Halloween Special

Shove off from shore: the whispering wake of slipshod ships shall martyrs make of wily women with tortured tongues and broken backs as they escape by blood-red moon, a burgeoning banner, which rises ready to cradle the channel,

They'll row, renewed, careen then crest through waters warm and carrion-weft.

That brackish black bite drags down dreams of the hungry and hardworking, basic and brave, all smothered in summer heat; meager and mean, stomachs empty since season unseen.

Each bloated bump of corpse to boat a ghoulish growl grows in their throats

Oh, It bites like bile, but meat is meat, and conscience quelled they fight to feast.  Their fear fades and drifts to the deep, strength seems to swell as they gnash their teeth.

In frenzied foam as they descend, devouring mother, daughter, friend till full to burst they claw to shore forever seeking something more  

To haunt who hunted them before