Bone Garden

In the garden of rural chastity for the convincing of the dead
To sleep until the end of time upon the fallen leaves as a bed.
And when to awake amidst the broken pleasures
Of a framework of toys and sundry treasures.
To take the battle in the corner to the completist of the fray.
And to live a thousand lifetimes in the decades of decay.
In the hate and weirdful world that embitters all that’s fair.
Who is bold to say that living is all that deadness cannot care.

Montparnasse 2007