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Sarcophagus beetles gnaw on these bones
buried in the catacombs
They still have zombie feast needs of me 
long after I’m gone

The scratching on the whited stones
of the sunken mausoleum,
brings the chorus of the viol worms to life
Crawling through my empty eye sockets,
planarian pleas are unsightly ... dirt given
with an inaudible drone

Whither doth the wind blow 
this nether dirge song?
Why canst the cold, October tarrying rain
not replenish the dead root thoughts
that once sprouted strong?

And the ravens sing with the crows;
atop the barren autumn trees,
ready to wear their bleak, winter coat
As my body lays stripped naked
in the lowest part of the shipwrecked boat

Foggy, drunken indifference 
was the cause of the coral reef crash
The muffled screams of the ghastly drownings, 
haunted the fear-stricken survivors’ sleep ...
it seems like forever

Whither didst the wind blow 
tragic notes 
of how it all went wrong?
Why canst the gathering dark clouds
not warn others to forbear 
trying to travel through the tight rock bowels,
which are peril prone?

I wonder doth the night owl ponder my fate?
Her shrill, wail hoots asking the full mourn moon:
Will my dead mariner thoughts
ever sail stern strong, 
with the wind to my back again?

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