Put Me

Put me in the ground
if you must;
my body is already rotten.

Put me in the furnace
if you like,
and then put my ashes
on the mantle.

I was already at eye-height,
but now you will never
look at me again,
even if it means you never
lift your eyes
from the ground, or never
bring them back down
from the heavens.

Put me on a bier,
and light a fire;

I am not really here —
I have been gone
for a very long time.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.