Adam Hazell

A warmer, wetter, sicker world 

I shouldn’t have let you down the hole first;
Too late to do anything but watch this
sleek crocodilian love
turn purse 
Rocks crudely sharpened,       
            placed to look like teeth
Only a few months into this island retreat and we’re arguing cannibalism as
New World Belief
Dragged to the fire 
of a warmer,
wetter, sicker, world 
all of it held in the bead
of blood pearled 
at the base of my neck 
           (the spot you would always bite)
and it never not felt good like
being the wicker man always should
Pagan gods performing fist bumps 
The smell of burning flesh
           and wood