EPITAPH

He

here,

before me

lies a

dead man.

I.

I have

created him

in my

own image.

A final breath

of blood

running to the roots,

I invite flies to my hide.

The elusive me

who

revels in prosperity

and is blinded with love.

Out of earth

I laugh solid gold,

shake

real yourself

and reveal

a world with fresh eyes.