At the burial of the red poet mummy.

 

 

 

What dost ensheathes and binds together;

nothing like offerings, lion heads, a ring,

each broken heart placed neatly

at my feet in canopic jars.

 

Aponeuroses pickled yet spiritual. As dead,

cold and wounded, my wish is that all who

loved me be buried by my side

 

that we might draw our conclusions of the afterlife

together. Our heads entrapped in an ego's

efflorescence. My sarcophagi covered in

 

that Prometheus haze, and you? Will love connect

the transport like a train? The vespers of that selcouth

human gift. Seeming, left there unattended

 

for a trillion years. Only to be unearthed,

to rise, and to stink, and

 

to transform.

Reviews

[Tree]

I can sit here on this for while. Vivid, and mystical you make me want to re consider my burial plans (cremation) after reading the beauty in this. And those last two stanzas where you finish with "to transform ..." was in itself, a transformation.
I'll be coming back to this later, for I think this haunting poem
is going to stick with me.

Nice work here, D

[jacob erin-cilberto]

to be buried next to loved ones so we can ponder our lives and draw conclusions of the afterlife...trapped by our egos but understanding we were never bigger than life...

i like the idea of the human gift which we all get...unearthed, to rise, and to stink...and to transform--

wow, the Prometheus haze....will love connect after death same as in life?

[Ken Simm.]

A stunning poem that rings with multiple layers of meaning. I am astounded.

[W.k.kortas]

Where emperors were entombed for transport for their own purposes, here the poet/poetry casts a wider, less selfish net--not a wish to arrive at some higher plane to continue issuing proclamations and eating grapes, but to "rise, and to stink, and/to transform." Powerful, brilliant stuff.