Oh there’ll be no forty maidens,
Cloud-clad angels, sainted bliss:
All your Luthers and Bin Ladens
Are just food for worms—or fish;
So relax my anxious faithful
And pursue some truer myth:
“Afterlife”—the thought’s a tangle!
Life always comes before death.
truth
Gravedigger
Digging holes to put people
in is a hard line of business,
Hard as the earth when the
frost sets in, & harder when
youve no interest in the lies
People tell to make a grave
less cold. The spade gets to
the truth of it: earth is hard.
The Heavenly Body
Little wonder my words fail
Being but the comet’s tail
