One dead light bulb
Adding a tad more darkness
To my vanity
A gray pallor, blue under the eyes
Heading to a cubicle cell
I need the road or too soon I’ll die
From my father’s obituary
“Never wanted to take the same way to work twice”
Once the roots dug in
So too the worms would make nice
Sold your, warrior, capped tin.
I awoke to find mine, mirrored coffin
Sustantivos where have you been?
Trapped inside, dimming light, dying friend
look long enough and the shine you will see
behind the lid, past the glass, where the dirt must be