Poem #47
"Life has every intention of burying me alive. it showed up at my store up in the middle of the night to shovel in hand and asked how deep I liked my graves.
It's craved every poem I wrote into stone. turned my words into epitaphs and asked me which headstone I liked best.
How staring if just have been to see me sit up in my casket right before the burial."
Page a hundred and forty-six
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