Don't phone.
I won't be in.
I am learning to be a corpse.
Just now, I'm foetal
A beaker body, with knees drawn up to chin.
I am practising the ultimate in post-natal.
But when you're dead what happens to your head?
Where thoughts roll round inside the skull like marbles?
Do they leak out, like veins that have been bled?
I am learning to be a corpse.
I want to know.
When I am dead, where will my daydreams go?
sheena blackhall
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/learning-curve-3/
