1786: Isolation

I shift in my coffin – to allay stiffenings
without complaint – they did a fair job –
although boxed air thins – that miasma
of parlour hasn’t paled/ Laid out 6 feet
under [all tidied] wasn’t high on my list
[no before-I-die tick of once-in-your-life
thing] & then my killing ache – heated &
immovable/ Leave me here? At least til
I’ve had enough/ I’ll long [my paradise’ll
not reduce for now] under broods of sin
[of taste & memory] Then sex & ale call
out to my stuck lips/ My burial now not
for me/ Dig me from my pit [& be quick]


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