Eulogy for the Slavic Latern

Glass graveyards are where
people do things in
a parthenon of procedures
in the decadent and similar:
television, lamp, side table -
beds turned down, pillows fluffed
between the windows and the eye.
In the code of old Egyptian,
ready made for the stacks
of ash and flood materials,
we ask about the time,
from the top to the bottom.
Each ticky-tock a better flashback,
the trees coming and going
a little faster- away with you
Chupacabra! Away with you
John Travolta! Away with you
Aurora Borealis!
Away with even you
Armageddon.
The soil sequesters
the rot in drag, locked
up tight for the future
in those awful Georgian coffins
that no one gets to see
and why buy that?
For sure, some do believe
in getting up again
and want to be ready
in the post post-mortem
to go anywhere, anytime with anyone.
Look at all the handsome darlings,
look at the ones who all fell bleeding
with mouths so froze wide open;
no one can hear them anymore.
No one could hear them then.