Westwind

Shut the Eyes of the Dead

Seth Newmeyer

Funeral cupids and monthly landlords wake up make up walk unleashed pets of small talk return and retire to hospitable funeral homes with tombstone beds so soft handmade vagrants slip in sink in six feet and don’t get up or won’t til rows fill up with hibernating unimaginative oblivion sleep where self-crucified maidens come to weep with plastic flowers to prove they still feel to who to illegible headboards bearing unread epitaphs of last laughs and words unheard to undertaking part time shepherds of day and age who don’t let sleeping pets lie except with them in four poster bunk beds next to clogged chimney chutes and shoot out steamed windows to pitter patter of half-assed atmosphere setting sprinklers rattling on tin shingle roofs drowning out overacted eulogies outside where hide and seek mourning takes hold of hand me down inheritances who skip and cry all the way to the bank and back or black and white costumed players who adopt wandering souls of passing and passed cats and dogs rained down around the all business minstrel chasing cars and hearses hitchhiking denied for no opposable thumbs so deaf and dumbly succumb to cold for rides on magic carpet euthanasia and hand-holding go out after dark sans bang or whimper just laughter and bark

Top

Hand coded by CRUXimaging