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Kitting My Pyramid
In the corner of my tomb, set a table,
lay it with a tray of pale green
hens eggs�
their warm shells spattered
with chicken crap and fine
brown feathers.
Add a grasp of daffodils,
that shoe I hated
and my mother's aviation goggles.
Fetch a bowl of dappled beans,
a dish of butter
and an open tub of creosote.
Against my chair, prop my dead lover,
his mackintosh still grimy,
his jester's hat, bells rusting and pitted,
and write a note for Colin,
a reminder for milk and forgiveness.
From the compost heap,
collect the dead cardinal.
Arrange him in flowers,
open-winged, a red embrace
of yellow and green.
Let the bird bring his own offering;
maggots, small rice-white,
churning in the butter dish.
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