Uncelebrated and Clean

The moral edge you hold to my skin
close to my neck
        your pressure
        my resistance
in a chair tethered to philosophy
        of mankind
        buried alive
in cemeteries like mausoleums
you won’t visit
        because you don’t know
where they are,
where they are stored.

But, resuscitate,
parade your dead
words, beliefs
while I recline,
drip out
until I am to join them
uncelebrated and clean.


19 lines
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