Nothing to mourn but ashes,
You know?
Took the shotgun to my dead selves,
Twice.
Then burned any remainders to black & white,
Enriching soil with carbon.
Blowing away in winter storm winds.
This cryptid I am now?
It consists of better selves –
Even if unmasked,
Refusing masking.
Witch.
Shhhhhhhhhh:
Twice.
