The Rigor

When alive
the rigorous labour of love
keeps no day or night
only the blood filled intensity of
doing and done;
a being of brought and bought

Do you know what it is?
The Rigor
that lives before the
Rigamortis, the welcome that comes
after a consistent clenching of
dead muscle and flesh gone rigid

it persists, a parasite, ever feeding
ever precise, meticulous
tasting phrases, quipping words
multiplying, hovering it’s growth outward
it knows only patterns of passion
craving itself line by line

Sonia Di Placido 05/10


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