A Dead Ringer

As it walked a midnight clearing 

Dressed of dirt and suit unthreading 

Doors of dread--attached to shackle 

Pull casket blessings through forest meadow. 

Coffin coffers of obol'd tokens, 

Spill from mouth 

Tasting: of blood and silver. 

A lonely jaunt where jogger's jog, 

Cracked and split: of ankles popped 

Dragging skin--where crawlers crawl, 

Over lunar hedges, by embalming arms. 

Rotting spreads-slowing stance 

Of prickly pine and orchid stench 

Plucking lilies for wreathe to bend 

Ne'er-the-place, dirt lain gives. 

Soilent mirth from walker drifts 

Under row where dirt lanes shift. 

A caw of crow--in peace we miss, 

A bearer's noting - to burn the remembrance. 

Thirst relentless, bathed in soil 

Tugging chain by burial haul, 

It wept no streams of cedar pulled 

By the flooded feet of its galleon goods. 

From its sound rang casket chimes 

A minted proof for a funeral ride. 

On passing feet: above six to climb, 

Rousing row from their long goodbye.