The mortician’s revenge

HJD writes

gray scale photo of woman holding back of her head

rare bird he calls me
walking swarm,
lukewarm disaster.
I put the tip of my pen
to the page
and nail him to the wall
like a flying squirrel caught in a jump
next day, he buries me carefully in his garden
I eat dirt and laugh,
making a home of my grave.
in the back of my throat, a sentence
starts to form:
six feet underground
I’ll continue
to haunt you

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