Should I Not Be Found Alive
Sty all your bodied waters
And libelous pretensions.
Hang leather headed juries
Beside some tethered eddies.
Drown me down
In new baptismal rivers.
Spread eagle me upon
Some granite black outcroppings.
And let my liver ribbon
From beaks of shadowed ravens.
Let my thigh bones
Fossil on the rocks.
Should I be buried under
When cliffs calf shuddered thunders,
No words of prayer be spoken
Just leave and let me be.
Copyright © Stephen Wilson-Floyd | Year Posted 2017
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