Rigor's Amortization

Looking into the large bathroom mirror Before the bath I catch a glimpse, a flash of something A darkened area of discoloration Almost as if some future dead thing now inhabits me: A too old cut of meat turned a familiar greenish hue Dead corpse waiting to sprout A glaze eyed figure in the haunted house. The spot may reveal itself on the face, Or along a shoulder or arm. Just for a second. Looking again, it was only my imagination. The infamous man who dug up graves To take parts of the bodies, spoke of a woman's body, That it flushed red where he began to take off A part of it, by cutting it. Even that dead for a week body knew Something violent was being done to it And stories abound of the still-growing hair, fingernails.. Not just haunted tales to scare children It seems a little bit of death resides in the living And a touch of aliveness remains even in death: The boundaries of when we are transformed Into house of wax characters Are never as clear as medical textbooks imply.