BODY OF WORK (POEM MACABRE)
what a body of work
poke it
and it crumbles into dust
and has not
even aged yet
pull back
the skin and
there you see
bare bones, not
even malevolent skeleton
nothing like those grimacing
Catholic-Aztec wonders from
a life-haunting
Mexican festival of death
they walk
it s alive
how so
when our planet
itself has become zombified
I do not even
know the Spanish for
dance of the dead
and my Latin is so
poor, almost forgotten
far from — perish the thought! —
the eternal or immortal