Funeral Return

A Poem

Funeral Return

Whoever comes to take my head away,
Let him relieve
The neck’s burden of bearing liquid weight.
Release the spirits out and let them bleed
Onto the frozen ground.
And let the earth well drink until it’s drunk,
Besot, as the last pound
Let out, has turned the frost beat red—the liquor sunk.

For if my every drop excites the world,
Lightens its head,
Then let them sip till sickness cause to hurl
The souls destroyed and meaningless vows kept.
Let them eat the vomit,
Relapse into their sins with hungry lust,
If they can stomach it,
And crawling on their bellies, let them swallow dust.

Plastered blind, the lot lay with themselves,
And from the rub,
The mother of every bastard yet to fell
A vine which founts intoxicating blood,
And spills the liquor out
For all to slurp with zeal among the churn
Of the orgy’s roaring shout.
You murder me amidst the bacchanal—I will return.

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