Litkicks Message Board Archive

Burial, in Advance of a Funeral

Posted to Poetry





Clinically,
you're not actually dead.
Not until you're all the way down -- six feet under.

But that doesn't make it any less cold
or lonely
at three feet... Or five.

The deeper you slip,
the faster you rot.
Permeated by worms and maggots (and mold).

My soul has been decaying
since 1977.
Not much left anymore.

And I do believe
that I'm sinking further,
into those depths.

Praying
that "clinical" death will stop me
from feeling

the maggots' gnaw.


-Marc Weber (beatvibe@aol.com)