Rest Stop (Dirt Nap)

When it's time to die, let us not discover that we have never lived. - Thoreau

Squeak of the trunk.

Everything unhinged.

Scoop after scoop with a shovel.

Curses uttered.

Distortion of earth's ancient layers.

Worms and flies gathered together in silent prayers.

Too late to be concerned with sin.

Determined hands lift me up and drop me in.

Like the wind revealing all beneath demise's perverted skirt.

Asinine abduction and weight of dirt.

Where's my breath?

Pushing up daisies.

A heavy pergatory's blooming grime.

Damn, she really did it this time ...

Author's Note

“The soil, it appears, is suited to the seed, for it has sent its radicle downward, and it may now send its shoot upward also with confidence. Why has man rooted himself thus firmly in the earth, but that he may rise in the same proportion into the heavens above?” - Thoreu