test22 test22

My Autopsy

test22 test22

Share Via:


at my autopsy, my ears will recall

the ceremony of waves

on the Antrim coast while my mouth

will aftertaste a fig & lemon cake.

inside my open chest will be hid

a novel on a day in the life

of a kite made of thin human skin

which circled the Slieve Donard

before sailing a wind to Madeira.

at my autopsy, my bones will curve

into a red cradle of antlers,

my deerheart; purple, blue, black

will drain its plump bag of ink

and stain the pathologist’s gloves.

the sun from the hospital window

will direct its warm blow of dust

to the soles of my feet as it did

in Athens, as in Lisbon

Wicklow & Rome. 

test22 test22