A Warning to the Vulnerable at the Interment

A Warning to the Vulnerable at the Interment

lines revised while listening 

to Spiegle I’m Spiegle

All the faithful who come

and too the heathens among

us when the song, undone

from the tongue, is (as

with all the sorrow-

ful) hung from the honey

yellow spring, when it has  

become in this little rhombus

of earth a will to suffer without

the troubled in-be

tweens meeting: neither heathen n-

or believer (because to be

a heathen belief is a pre-

requisite) they spread

their feet in both east

and west and to break

free (I want to, you?) don't

they, aside from being

troubled, which has

its own seduction, trample

to death a mother

instinct to soothe, wounds

only to be, stepping too close,

gulped up as me- like bones

left out in the open so

vultures, not crows (I like,

I admire crows, they’re thought-

ful intelligent birds) can

come with their own 

economy, their own ceremony

So don’t please step close

to the edge of the fake

green grass discreting the little

hole, don’t especially stand close

to the excavator skeleton cold

in her Lady Macbeth’s cloak,

smelling strange as coagulated

soap.  If you take to the faithful

rail while the ship embarks

just long enough to clear

the harbor, the graveyard’s

carrion bird, hunched, will wait,

ignore you, at least in this.  Re-

kindle your faith.