Transfer

When I’m suffocated
laid on the table
desiccated
and my bones arranged in order
are lined up to draw attention to
the crookedness of life

and the harsh lights of the mortuary
serve to soften the lines
surrounding me

the door closes on mortality while
infinity drags on.

the message label on my toe
reads
tag and bag
he’s good to go
and that will be the end of it.

I do not fear the great expanse
the slow dance to obscurity
assuredly
it will show me things
I never felt before

and the door will close, but
who knows how many other doors
lay behind the other doors
behind this door?

© 2016, John Smallshaw.