Dreaming In Repose

i cleansed my casket today,

pristine as a puddle

and sparkling like dander 

caught 

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, 

soaked 

through sodden bone and

limp skin

like root rot in debugged soil.

unkempt

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...