i’m preparing for a funeral that isn’t meant to happen yet.

i dig a grave
and carve a stone.

i’m not dead yet.
but i feel like i am dying.

it will save them doing this
when i am gone.

it is easier to prepare for a funeral that hasn’t happened yet.
than one you didn’t think you’d have to prepare for at all.

Etched into my headstone
please write
"eternally happy,
eternally free"

Doppelgänger
by Michael R. Burch

Here the only anguish
is the bedraggled vetch lying strangled in weeds,
the customary sorrows of the wild persimmons,
the whispered complaints of the stately willow trees
disentangling their fine lank hair,

and what is past.

I find you here, one of many things lost,
that, if we do not recover, will undoubtedly vanish forever ...
now only this unfortunate stone,
this pale, disintegrate mass,
this destiny, this unexpected shiver,

this name we share.

Keywords/Tags: doppelganger, namesake, twin, lookalike, grave, tomb, headstone, inscription, weeds, shiver, recognition, destiny, fate

grave request
by Michael R. Burch

come to ur doom
in Tombstone;

the stars stark and chill
over Boot Hill

care nothing for ur desire;

still,

imagine they wish u no ill,
that u burn with the same antique fire;

for there’s nothing to life but the thrill
of living until u expire;
so come, spend ur last hardearned bill
on Tombstone.

Keywords/Tags: Tombstone, Boot Hill, grave, headstone, death, doom, graveyard, morgue, final, payment, resting place

I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.

Originally published by Romantics Quarterly

The Headstone, worn out and fissuring at the edges, stands alone;
Etched deep into the charred rock was a name; one which is now gone.
I glance at the bloodstone, and wonder if they did atone;
Or did they stand stalwart in the mist, and fail to move on?

Did they suffer in silence as the fire cleansed the earth,
Of their meaningless existence? In the end, however, hard they tried,
They indeed did not matter; with no chance of a rebirth
The scorched corpse hovers above ground, yelling

“You are just a grain in the sands of time!
Just like me, desire and fulfillment will pass you by
As the colour which you were born with, leaves your eyes
So your prime shapes itself easily
Into the Fallen remnants of mine.”

She asked me what I was living for
And I gave her this confession

In this realm of population
In the sanctum that is living
This world only exist in
The spaces that demand it
Beings who's lives surround
Boundaries required to sustain
Thoughts and queries somehow persist
Against the grain
Pain and longing don't exist outside the brain
Its in this environment, a hostile place

We come face to face with the tantamount lack of grace
Perfection has no enemies because it has no face to hate
Emptiness is something to which each of us relate
Its all enveloped in the great cold distance

Developed in the river swiftly grinding our roots away
Drab and lifeless as a surprising softness sickening and meaningless
Blending together with the coarsest feathers to create the bed on which we lay
In lieu of living organs, please send your deepest thanks

And we both looked down into the grave
A connection in contrast to
The depth of recession all around us

And the ending's always the same
Each and every host finds themselves in a less than stellar place
Every spectacle and spec of plot laden hero
Is slowly digested

Among the monstrosities and grotesque scenery
Something else can take shape
And grow metaphysically
Fake though it may be in the face
Of such bleak uncertainty

Electricity