diminished and disembodied
some purposely planted weed
against my shadow maker i dare not strain
a corpse being pushed and dragged
thigh down on the pavement
more inevitable grows the incasement
as the shadow begins to lag
the only way out for a ghost
is to stretch and scream
but a body stretched along the ground
is far less than a comforting dream
it will not roll prettily along
as a well fed fetus
but rather
becomes a criss-crossed washboard of red