The lamenting la
begs elegy from dull routine,
whimpering space between laughs,
with rocking lulls.
A private exequy of heavy sighs
Long after soured flesh
has been picked
from the teeth of friends,
Broken men canopy black-laced sorrow
over your carcass,
Broken women prey menacing lullabies
for a seat touching your shrine,
or moments of weeping electricity
through your landline.
unchanging indifference over
rows of limped faces
pulled toward marbled hell
beneath their feet.
I imagine the closed-door taste
of your Eucharist from cupped hands,
with no need for a body.