Deviltry

Thriving in the swamp
‘bout a mile and a half from here
the tree of curses blooms
spreading it’s canopy of fear,
rotting corpses yield rich soil
black as Satan’s smile
roots dig deep into the muck
to drink the juices vile,
captured souls hang like fruit
bending gnarly boughs
a zombie with gangrenous thumb
tends it as it grows;
when the swollen moon hangs high
best leave the bayou be
or your spirit may be in the crop
swingin’ from that tree.