I am but I am not alive nor dead,
That much is certain, I am uncertain
As to whether matter matters or not,
If only I could tell what the weather
Outside my humble abode, my dwelling
Below the stars, beneath the earth, in dirt
I find myself trapped for eternity,
Locked-in, not unlike a quadriplegic
In his wheelchair or on his gurney bed,
Nothing to do but blink and stare, vacant
To the vacuous world outside this corpse,
Corpulent in my double-wide, king-sized,
Hermetically-sealed sleeper compartment,
No rent to pay, utilities come free
Of charge, as I was the undertaker
In the funeral home just a stone's throw
Away from the gravel path to my grave,
Grateful that gravity keeps me in place,
At least until a sinkhole swallows me
Whole & down, down, down I tumble & fall,
Like on a waterslide, after the rains
Pour down in torrential buckets, the mud
Slips into a silky, soft negligée
With faux fur trim, just a whisper of white
Light & all thoughts cease, absolute zero.
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