Appalachian Noir

I

Moon's yellow,
a sphere of clouded amber,
shines uneasy over black limbs.

Within,
Pagan Gods are preserved
like amphibians in formalin.

II

Hush. Sirens approach.
Nails of red light scratch our faces.

Time is short.

These bodies must explode.
Our flesh will fuse
forever.

Time is shed.
Nothing shall break us.
In one plot we'll 
transcend together.