THE WHITE SKULL GRINS

No Lazarus we,

no man of Nazareth

to cast aside the

touch of rot

and bring back

a thought

where decay moved.

No, no wonder

of life after abyss,

but cold flesh,
ice of death
and then,
the casting away
of the robe of meat
and the skull
grins, white,
to some joke
the universe played
and which death
reveals; mocking
us. The dead
walk again?
No, the dead
walk now,
the billions
in robes of flesh
and hot blood
in their veins
while the white
skull grins
and waits,
beneath the surface
of flesh and thought.

21.03.-05.04.2018