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Oct 2018
No longer a thought
within my brain,
the mortician lay me
down to sleep

a scream i refrained
surfaced as white
within my eyes
that none had bought

my vitals he checked
and thumped my nose
as a creep
then:

a bath and massage
no dance but song
two strong hands
then set my face

arterial embalming
then drain/eject
it's all the same
the cavity --
aspirate and concentrate

The humming thrumming
burning desire
escaped as soon as with
a pop I fled my skin
and faced the choice
to do it once again.

:: 10-23-2018 ::
It's October so why not write a poem about the mortician's work?  Wrap it up in the concept of reincarnation.
EP Robles
Written by
EP Robles
562
   Fawn
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