Digging your Death-Bed


Life comes to a close

at night as a shovel digs
deep into the earth –
lifting dirt to make a
place for you to live.

At night – I hear a
shovel as sound surrounds
me – my body shivers,
and sweat pours from skin –
moistens a night gown. . .

It is clear now – as if night
were day – a hole deep
a man jumps into its’ emptiness
another man tosses a different
shovel which levels the earth.

The land, flat – sides high.
Bats fly from tree to tree –
ghosts surround men
digging a space for another

I glance toward the bench
near the oldest part of the
graveyard. And you sit with
your legs crossed, and boots
up to your knees – your hair
has grown – your nails
painted perfectly.

Are you wondering who is
next – or do you know?


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Angie's Diary