Following yesterday’s Poe post, here’s a poem that suggests it’s not just premature burial we should dread.
In Grave Condition
By Joe Nazare
I don’t rake ragged fingernails against the casket’s lid
Or shriek hysterics into the enshrouding blackness
My skin doesn’t crawl when I imagine
Something centipedal
Getting under my shirt collar
No
I just lie here
Endlessly pondering a monstrous mystery
Why consciousness lives on
Yet remains trapped in a cranial crypt