reanimator

give me a name, hated, despised,

an effort to make me, unadvised–

i, ouroboros, eternally self-tucked,

will die again and reconstruct.

my grave lies deep at the end of the road.

look to where the river is slowed,

and bring a shovel and patience long–

be ready for perplexities hereon.

i’ll break the crust of the earth and then

cloaked in mud, bark, peat, and fen,

crawl to my knees, disgraced but free

and far, far gone into the breeze.

this wretched, shriveled body of mine

not yet broken in spirit but in line

drug across skyline, high and low,

‘til it comes across a doorway closed.

agonied! i shall scream thin and high,

now-animated throat still parch’d and dry,

borne from bones and joints that ached

and endless thirst for life unslaked.

i’ll invite myself in unasked, for i

have nothing left of myself but my

hunger unfulfilled, two decades now,

and i must end this cycle, somehow.

i am become mortal. i am me.