Friday, February 19, 2010



The wound is old,
Still it leaks of blood and puss.
Past the point of treatment,
No need to fuss.

Decayed and stiff.
Rigor has clearly set in.
Flesh hangs hollow on bone,
From wounds back when.

Eyes lifeless, dreamless
Staring off into the night.
Flashes and moments.
Pupils still in the light.

Slap for a sign.
Some sign there’s some fight.
Be cautious and weary.
This corpse still has a bite.

Don’t reach for the paddles.
Far beyond any shock.
Time of death?
  Just look at the clock.


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