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Borderlands is the first of what I hope will become a very-occasional series of found landscape poems. Texts are only slightly altered from the source material.


The realm of mankind
Is narrow and constricted.
Always the forces of Chaos
Press upon its borders,
Like a wave of lice-ridden hunger,
Swarming, chitteringly, from their burrows
Amidst the dark forests and tangled fens.

Decide on an order of march:
The road branches,
One path to the borderlands,
The other into the forsaken wilderness
Beyond the ken of Law.

Thick, twisted tree trunks,
Unnaturally misshapen limbs,
Writhing roots,
Clutching and grasping thorns,
And briars to warn and ward.

But now the strange growth
Has suddenly ended.
And amongst the litter
Of the ravine floor,
Gleaming ivory and white:

Most features are unnamed.
And something evil
And waits.

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