Sonnet 1

Upon the discovery of my death, do not beat your breast, do not gnash your teeth. Truly, do not lament my stolen breath. sing hymns, and lay this body on the heath— funeral march beneath the firmament. Let the carrion crow consume these eyes, a steel-blue pair of deceased ornaments. Listen as the morbid corvidae cries with ravenous glee over such a gift. He will not let earthly flesh go to waste— eat the entrails, and sup the warm blood, swift. Do not deny my beloved his taste. A life that is done cannot be redone. Leave the bones to bleach under face of sun.