We'll know by coroner's report the title -
aggrandizes to bespoke a formaldehyde.
Not but a chance this crawly cadaver
was last seen haul back many glasses -
whiskey or worse then the liquid -
gas no less than the smell.
And we'll not stay for error of timing
and death, when it happened and
cause, and whether the morning.
Evening and dark tides of rope -
slender against the neck of you will -
at last he rests against a knoll.
Trails last longer than a figure transfixed
by swaying in the dark, the mass of ink
that blots against scratches of quill -
the darkest of messes,
yet another of the last visitors seen
and the end of the peer.
© 2015 Larry Ingram
Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture.