Dreaming In Repose

i cleansed my casket today,
pristine as a puddle
and sparkling like dander 
at the crisp edges of the sun.
my death - made perfect 
in defect.
a little too the left of the
moon in full bloom.
just out of night-sight 
       (or the public's view).
feet planted but infertile, 
mind in thirst 
but over watered, 
through sodden bone and
limp skin
like root rot in debugged soil.
and unkept,
though I stick like seedlings
to everything
that will only rub me away,
in shadow
and in shame.
but as long 
as my casket is clean
my death 
will be beautiful...