Treasure Island

Mark R Slaughter


Disingenuousness


Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.

Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:

Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!

Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011










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The March of Death

Death death death death death death death death death death death

Death death death death death death death death death death death

Death death death death death death death death death death death

Death death death death death death death death death death death

Death death death death death death death death death death death

Death death death death death death death death death death death

Submitted: Thursday, December 15, 2011
Edited: Tuesday, January 03, 2012

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