Patterns are cut into our fabric
clothed in one design of the future
mortician's stitch applied to the stiff
individual just like today's
fashioned statement
tailored to fit a custom
ordered fate.
Already knowing it would come to some
cause of death, perhaps this time
from a bloated heart that shriveled
once the pins came loose
from a cushion left thumped
upon a cap sleeve.
The reaper sews and I
the living also have patterns
chiseled onto my fingertips
for making the agreement to touch
circles like the central points
of blackness dotting each eye
spelled out before the black
magic of a short hemmed doom.
Loose threads flutter and hang;
these lashes cease their beating
like whips or wings or whatever
it takes, like this time to see
it is happening again, a brand
new coat to these arms.
There are always more
circles in the copper of cheap
penny wishes left behind in the light
weight of eyelid donations
not so much in exchange
for thoughts but torrents
of their rain ruled out
by reinvented heavens
that occur only in circular
discussions that mean so much
in their unraveling irrelevant way
of life. But this season,
we have the upside
down umbrella to accessorize our fleeting
opinions.
A fashion statement has been made:
A reawakening is just
another reoccurrence.
A burial of days is
a new suit of lacking sight so shut
the doors to look at the fresh
inconsequential cause
of a dying fad
that will come back from the bones
at the back of the closet
and once again it
will make it to all the covers
that will soon turn
over.
So just walk it off
while you can
like a front
page model and then click pose.
Strut to the end in linen or wool
or some material that covers up the future
decomposition of your special flesh but
Only our fingerprints make our mark.
You may take this opportunity
to rip off their sentiments and
patch a dead man's genes.
It is what it is, so what is
the point of marketing
live death when you know that
you are your own maker?
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