Incorrupt Corpses

The graveyard is filled with incorrupt corpses, proof that for some, death will not divorce us from the basic shapes a life well-lived makes. The skeptics, of course, declared each of them fakes and are now on hold with the rubber plant’s line with a credit card number one digit from mine. Incorrupt dads make lonely kids sad. They look like the men the children never had – what a tease! What’s the need? And their bodies don’t bleed! Hungry worms shriek for something more to feed their segmented bodies. The faces still haunt me. The help line says hold but I fear that they lost me. The weights weren’t right, someone checked it last night. A fan to keep the wax from melting underneath the light? Incorrupt corpses, sans serial numbers. When I die, god, please let me not be encumbered by incorrupt features I shouldn’t possess or help lines that will never answer unless you put the phone down for a second to smoke. Incorrupt corpses – because saints love to joke.

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~ by perfectionatrix on December 8, 2009.

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