Corpse Finder

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(Hebeloma Syrjenese)

Foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men’s eyes

Here, where secrets seep and sink and deepen, word creeps out. Here, where Blood-Reds swell, Slimy Bandeds spread their gills and Dead Man’s Fingers gnarl and shoot to point at moons gripped tight in an old oak’s claw, it’s a sucker bet to bring what fungus sprung from dark guilt sings. The dead they say arise and tithe, and bones so bothered lift and list where mushrooms, loaming, live, so know, O Evil-doers everywhere, within your skin, the Finder’s skill will unveil all, stonewall none, beget from fetid rot the pellet’s hiss or dangled gibbet’s drop.