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Poetry Magnum Opus

The Burial of the Dead


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The world was with me near and far

and so I climbed into my car

going hellbent for the horizon.


It’s possible I had my eyes on

the speedometer, the clock, or what the fuck

when I ran into that solid truck.


I was dead, like, totally out of luck,

and only at the grave I came to revive,

pounded on the coffin, I’m alive, I’m alive!


After an awful silence, four minutes or five,

a straining of ropes, an awkward removal.

The lid removed, deep frowns, disapproval.


What the hell are you playing at?

I’m alive, I’m alive, just have a look!

No, we have to play this by the book.


You are legally dead and that is that.

We’re all splashing around with your money

already, the income steady, so sorry, honey.


Anyway, you’ve been drunk for the last five years,

a source of mourning and evening tears

among your grieving friends and family!


Aren’t you better off dead, come on now, really?

I can’t believe this! Get me the fuck out of here!!

Sorry, pal, touchy-feely, you’ve run out of beer.


They nailed down the lid with hammers: pound, pound,

and they lowered me back in the cold dark ground

and walked away, the bastards. Honest to God!


After a life of strain and pain can we not expect

a modicum of love, goodwill, and shining respect?

I thought about this, quiet and silent below the sod


until I dug myself out, with a rage hard upon me,

and so walked the streets, thinking, thinking …

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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Horizons are often obscured, but we know they are there, waiting. Good vision.

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