I am mine own epitaph - Monday, December 20, 2010
I am mine own epitaph
Every night's bed is but a grave
I am mine own foot
in the grave
as low, as low, as low, as low, as low as the grave.
We tell ourselves at night;
“Love may afford my lying still.”
Slowly the rain drizzling;
insanities for ever fall.
I can do for madness,
I don't mind it's burning.
Health, money, hills, her blossom.
Health, money, hills, her shoulders.
To rise; hang still in a tinge of egg shell fragments
only the stain of a little common place
the thing I was last year that's all.
Always there between my choice of cages
A meager nightgown.
The detail matters nothing.
The flicker of sin,
one has something in the crimes,
Skip, skip, till we reach home.