The Sated Dead

In the rich inhuman earth, I wish to dig
Myself a grave, deeper than the darkest
Act of time

And stretch myself out on a rack of ease
To sleep obliteration
Like a shark in a storm

Hating testaments and Christ's cracked stones
Before I'd ask you to mourn
I'd go alive and call the crows

To gut the last scrap of my carrion
You worms! Black amities without eye
Or ear, a dead man

Enters your dirt with a celebrant's heart,
Feasting philosophers, beasts
Born of decay

Come, plunder my ruins
Without a shudder in your blood
As no torture is left to dread
For this old, soulless flesh
Dead as the dead.