graveWhen the Grave is my final resting Bed

A fine Closet for my leathery Clothes;

What shall some future Gravedigger have said

Upon Inspection ‘midst this Clay & Bones?

Exacting Instruments will test & date;

Some Surgeon will demonstrate a Profile;

Tongs will grasp, Tapes will measure, Blades will grate,

Amid bloodless Chords, gone mute, & sweet Bile.

These toothed Nibs must forsake an angry Bite

At this Pickpocket.  Rummage Thief, defile!–

I–who spun the wide-eyed Day; black-eyed Night.

Left in this musty Bed to dream awhile.

    In what old Pocket, Furrow, Specimen,

    Rings the Echoes of Family, Lover, Friend?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s