the witch is dead

she is grave is right where she belongs. and that's kind

The wickety witch
is old and dead
pull out her eyes, her toungue
Rattle her head
Watch all the cockeroaches
crawl out, and spread
festing, nesting in the blind deaf skull
her skin will leak from the wicked bones of her face
her long jagged nose
crooked and centered in place
the bones of her cheeks
high and round, and her chin
an angular arrow
a point that shifts her face
into a narrow and gruesome frown.
as if pointing- her nose, her chin
her head long and down
to the levels below the earth, the ground
If a soul did once posess her,
surely it's there in the floor of hell by now
Her eyes, sockets round and black and brown
and molded green like fungus and yellow like

Urine.
The shallow pool she so fills.