I gonna leave a cadaver
not a corpse
so a student of medicine can practise their craft
and you never know,
I might end up being some kind of Frankenstein
writing poetry in a freaky circus.

Spun around all night
like a spiders snack
twirled up in blankets
prey to the night.
The darkness is long
these times spinning
longer toward winter.
And the blankets
will multiply. A nest
and a web all at once
the fading of the light
down the dark tunnel.

All that's left is lonely markers
silent words hardly ever read
where no one talks to their neighbours
centuries old stones at crazy angles
mourners heads bowed and hushed
wraiths moving in the mist
treading carefully amongst dead flowers
where even the poets rest their bones
- to sleep the longest sleep,,,,,