A corpse dressed in green fine


waltzed up to me

tried, cried wanted to pry through

the curtain of flies.

I looked it, her, them in

the empty eternal eyes,

until I realised

they were looking to my right.


To my right, the younger

one stood, a taint fully

tasteful tight smile crying

belligerence through her frame.

What did she have?


A smaller nose- no.

A state of repose- definitely no.

A mirror that bespoke vanity- probably true.

Or simply put, she just wasn't



So now even dead carrion

Deplore my name.

It must be the company

I keep. Or maybe it's that

Life likes to delude itself

into being deep. That's so steep.

Fine, I've accepted, moved

on, deflected.

(Oh please help me)

Times, passed away.

I wish I could give

it a funeral. Or at least another day.

(The family, it's here,

they won't just leave.)

This, I remember,

is like a crew without

a captain. They line

up, 1, 2, 3 all ready

to dive in a

complaint to the head.

I give them the mouth,

without the boot.

Then they ask why

their captain went on

a cruise.

(Loneliness, in this case,

isn't as bad as it screams.)