on what day did you die.

arms bent into ornate blood clot flowers,
plasma that no longer
flows through withered veins


turn
of cheek away & back again

an eyeblink - did it.

ashen carapace, only a loaner
anyways,

an elongated jack-o-lantern
smudge of lip

your jaw is nestled against a back of skull




the congregation,
it howls pitiful hymns


satin lined sarcophagus

for this plaster template

the 30 year reservation for it's lot.