Anthony Defabritus’s poem in the current issue

Anthony Defabritus is in the band Accidental Seabirds and runs a recording studio Antfarm Studio

the subtle taste of essence

Tiny foot soldiers treading
down the concave of the spine
tracking dirt as they pass,
leaving behind remnants
of a death march.

Muted cries bounce up the halls
in the early night;
there’s spirits in these walls,
into which we’ve punctured.

How minuscule holes
can start as small drips
then flood in waves,
pulsing to the rhythm of time
as it chooses to pass,
or stay the fuck still.

The illusion of frequency
bringing the march full circle,
retracing its stained footprints
in waters once waded.

I liked the beginning description of the soldiers in this poem and where he goes with them…You never really know where you are in this poem and sometimes that is ok…the third stanza really made me appreciate this piece as the voice changes becomes a little aggressive and kinda sums up a lot of the piece.

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