On an upper story, someone is dying. 

On this lower floor, I am revising. 

Throw the dead ones out. They rise. 

The loved ones retire. They cry. 

Isotopes, pockets, dragonflies, bread: 

How can I indemnify the dead, long gone on my aperitifs? 

They have brought nothing but grief. 

-

Set it off on the left, oh, set it off on the right, now, set it off. 

Though the circle's closed and the sacrament is had, lo, set it off. 

The collars of reprieve, the pendulous aggrieved, do sadden now. 

Once the deed's replayed and merriment displayed, they sadden, how. 

Flowers on the left, oh, flowers on the right, now, bow you down. 

Though the circle's rent and the birthday bottle's spent, they bow down. 

-

It is my work that waits, not yours. 

It is my clock that ticks, not hers. 

I have reason to undertake an expiry report. 

The dead will die nigh, nonetheless. 

-

August. The beat of the firefly 

in its bleep of light 

across the dark lawn. 

An indigent woman stares        and sips. 

-

There was a woman, 

She was dying. 

When I denied her, 

I was lying. 

Her face it was a 

Piteous kite 

That hovered o'er 

That butterfly, 

That blighted spirit 

Gone tonight. 

-

Remove what is of consequence--the nine yards whole: the homonym, 

Beneath the skull the tender tent of clavicle prone, 

The diffidence, the sailor's knot, the sickle cell, the humanate, 

The bone that breaks, the outer clotted artery she bent. 

-

'Night. 'Night. A lawn that exhales insects, grass. A 

Chute in which the elevator 

Shudders up. A wave, a kiss, a token 

Spliff. Another time, it was, when you were here & 

Harping on our pockets' pilling, 

Wary. Receive me though I have arrears 

To each lector at the lectionary.