Cradle For The Grave Digger

Shovel in hand
And corpses abound
Night in a steering glance
Owl as messenger
I kiss the soil
That cremates flesh to dust to dust to zillions of double fragments

Cold in hand
All cold surrounds
as blood boils to freezing
and ill-tempered wind
dies without seeing
my naked eyes
tear-tombed
as flowers to the dead

And as the nightingale swallows
what ghouls riden in the ancient world
my matter-of-time in reaper's blade
strikes a machine man-made
ever-gliding, ever-itching
hoping to be replaced

And as soil kisses soil
with a flesh making necrophililc affection with earth
and as craters as closed; wishes being done - books written to dots
Eternity climbs over and says
"Sleep you can"

And in the hotel of lamps and stones
I rest a bit
Then begin again
life anew
For someone

to go through wombs and wombs of mud

Like a star fading the mud-dweller is pale
statled by afterlife dual
morning for the body wrapped - mummified by earth
I mummified by silences that word-out into nothing...

History begets history
Chastity and Experience elopes