Corpse

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https://www.evernote.com/shard/s315/sh/3bac4119-33ca-4184-a4bc-fcfa7834415e/4c80907926b39ab1064b35c7dbbf687e

Only: dread.
The world I see is now,
In the slow long heavily slumped
Blunt march of a funeral,
And overcast.
A coffin, quite empty, is held;
Too low.
Unconforming.
Not a thing good can ever come?
If.
What is spread refuses to die;
Being toxic
Is free without the casket.
As the damp earth is pitched

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