Mother’s stocked the living room with death’s residual crumb; She’s neatly packed the urn-grounds in leather armarium. Her father and two grands ensconced silent on the mantle; Their breath long left but flotsam flecks betray Mortem, the vandal. Luggage never set to stow on barge, ark or bus Protects the final vestige of dear visages. […]
Previous page Next page