Selasa, 17 April 2012


Here lies another box for nature, Carbon ready; Black to eyes down here, Where death is at its job. Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob Or two from living yet-to-dies – A humming lacrimoso – It all but cleans the eyes: Forget it – The dismal show of grief – Life is only chemistry – Our stay is only brief. It’s we who hype it up! Diaphragms jerk again; The jet monotone of hearses Feeds the disingenuousness Of undertakers – They seem to stare at something up ahead – For them, it’s in the blood, To taxi off the dead. Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011

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