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He bought a home for his body and closed the door on the likes of me…..
No doorsill will ever be mine and if it were I’d never be welcome.
A $ sign resides next to the knocker and the macher said I was
a poor excuse for a recluse living alone in a mausoleum…………………….
A panoply of gold told who was he ……….who I would never be
and there I rot in the ground next to his shrine in death never to be mine.
The epitaph hath an unmarked grave so grave that hath lived a life
in the shadow of his stink………so grave to be eternally impoverished and so
always so alone.
I’m battened down in my coffin strapped to its gurney and rolled away into oblivion.
Daniel Williiam Concharty is a poet whose work appears frequently in Painted Brain News