When I come to you Mine funerary ground, I do not come in cobweb garments. I turn my toes up And come clothed with Immortal diadem of freewill round my bones and senews. First, to totter on the brink Of my grave before handing In my last checks for lone couch.
I come as if swept to you With broom, in food fads Pica for earth.
Oh dying earnest! When the grizzly terror stares Me in the face I shall say to it That actually I have been ill. When the silver chain snaps I fall to you like unripe figs Off wind-swayed fig-trees.
I come soothed. Calm like elk's dung from which blind beettles Withdraw at noonday. Silence I do not trust In my noonhigh. But if in your sweet silence Wind, with smooth cadence Oozes off God's storeroom First at tree leaves Then with momentum At their branches, I heed to obsessive compulsive Order.-remain quiete.
I come to remain soothed. Mine whimsy epitaph claims, "Maggots are in his nose!" But be not into sleep deprivation. Mine dirt I leave on the filthy rag At thy foothills.
Stygian ferry, When I come, I cross you As if loaded on donkeys, Stacked in bones and flesh And body without soul To my funerary hill. Lie under the pavillion Of it's friendly natives, Under symphatizing tenderness And dream a sweet by and by The abode of God is not far. A sweet by and by When death is bound In adamantine chains, Wave a branch of palm-tree High in my hand.
The hearts of maggots are veilled with jagged scales Hard like millstone. Hard like Nimrod of old Nineveh, City of many merchants Than stars in the sky. A city that piled up earth against itself On the hills where dry leaves russle and twigs remain scatttered....