One thousand and one deaths
autumn, Nature, poetry

One Thousand & One Deaths

am ready for the one thousand and one death,

unhurried torturous and slow painful even to grotesque

death, which I’ve embraced multiple times without

any peevish complaints of my fate, trampled and

trodden in the jarring folds of hefty Earth.

Since my conception in the unfathomable wombs

of rusty mud I carried within my exposed heart

an aching fright of the howls of shrieking winds.

Today  I lie decomposed a bleached carcass, a

bulbous mass of my former-self, insipid and pale.

The spectators can witness the mutilations of thousand

deaths incised on my bare veins as the raucous Earth

continues to compress me in her piercing buckles

grinding meat-loaf in an absurd Sisyphean procession

a futile, all a vain exercise, as I will rise again from

my frugal ashes, oozing out my aimless head born

from the vaginal tubes of the ashy soil, with a numbing

terror of the waling winds of sweeping autumn. Born

once again to die another one thousand and one deaths

just enough to cover a full circle.