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Postmodern Village
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No One Thing Deserves This Much Warmth
by Hezekiah Allen Taylor

from the corpse position
you can't see anything but box
faux wood grain, satin

the temperature inside
at least five degrees higher
than the earth

it encloses, almost moving
in itself

to me the permanence
(embalming, seals, concrete tombs)
keeps the fear so fresh, so new

death as still-good leftovers

without perservatives
you can eat the flesh:
no salt for seasoning
no MSG for flavor

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version -- Inspiration
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