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Hebeloma, Adam Kamerer

CW: death

Wake and walk the white mist,

the dawn fog, the breath

of moss and bark.

Listen to the birds

holding their breaths.

Wake and walk

past the lonesome:

the long-leaf pine,

broken at its neck,

fountained with hard chips

of yellow rosin

spilling from its throat

and find in the hollow

of its rotted hips

the white grin

of an old skunk's skull

and a council of death:

five tiny men

with round white crowns,

kings who gnaw

the remains of a breath

the remains of a body.

Wake and walk the white way

home, the fog, the breath

of fungal ghosting,

contemplate being

devoured this way

when you become

a white grin too,

if a city of death

will spore out of you

and eat you up.


Adam Kamerer is always getting lost in the woods. His poems have appeared in Anatomy & Etymology, Borderline, and Four And Twenty. He has authored two poetry collections: Bone Fragments and Ventricle, Atrium, credited as Gabriel Gadfly. Read more of his poetry at

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