Lone dead approach unbidden with requests.
Eternal rest’s eclipsed by unmet needs.
Preparing for the ask, its devil tease,
The dropkick of the punchline, I’m composed.
This won’t take long. Crisp salt-white speech is not
A conversational duet. It’s brief.
Succinct. Direct. Delivered neat. Deep-voiced.
Or else transmitted silently, slipped thoughts,
As if the listener’s reborn inside
Unwritten books that stalk the author’s mind.
Desires, regrets, or urgencies don’t die
When bodies decompose to worm-sawed seed.
Don’t think fierce yearnings laze about, content
To swing in hammocks of the afterlife,
Unhunted by the conscience’s sharp edge.
Gut hunger’s not forgotten when homeless.
Dumped six feet down, desires don’t get dismissed.
Remorses, cravings, impulses revive,
Resurface -- seeking friendly patronage.
Why wouldn’t I oblige? Souled will still thrives.
Returning home, before I hit the sack,
I’ll muse: “When are the dead expected back?”
Native New Yorker LindaAnn LoSchiavo, recently Poetry SuperHighway's Poet of the Week, is a member of SFPA and The Dramatists Guild. Elgin Award nominee "A Route Obscure and Lonely" and "Concupiscent Consumption" are her latest poetry titles.
Forthcoming is a paranormal collection of ghost poems, a collaborative horror chapbook "Santa Muerte," and an Italian-centric book, “Flirting with the Fire Gods,” inspired by her Aeolian Island heritage.
Her Video-Poetry channel will give you nightmares.
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