THREE BERRY PRESERVE

Burial

thefunerealwoods:

Laid in a coffin under quiet earth,

that quiet earth, with nothing more beyond

the blooming flowers, grass and graven skies;

there, Silence, brooding at my side

in the soil, in the rotting wooden lid,

in worms that nibble at my swollen flesh,

pale in death —

but how to pass the time?

I’ll decide the sexes of flowers, perhaps, 

or listen for birdsong in the black night,

or marry a crow in a garlanded church,

or try to light a candle with my eyes

that blink no more,

or simply dream away,

dreaming as my skull bites through my skin —

my clothes of flesh are vanishing.