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...




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