Jason J. Marchi  . . .

 

Weird Tales

Spring 1993

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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THE DANCE  OF THE CORPSES

 

In cemeteries across the world

A great waltz ensues.

Husbands next to wives

Lovers and the loved

Shrink and dry together

In the great black ballroom.

Earth's pale melodies

Are slow, soft and slight,

The gaunt midnight dancers

Waltzing away to bone.

The rigor mortis fingers

Of lean drawn men

Reach out to ashen cheeked girls

Yet they never reach, never touch.

Each waltz is solitary,

Each dancer alone in his corner,

Yet together.

 

In one corner, side by side,

As a worm through the soil,

His last living thought,

Now embalmed, reaches for her.

(He died at 20, she at 80.)

And she was newly arrived on the dance floor,

Her dress fresh sweet and pink.

And here he has waited,

In his dusty blue suit, practicing.

No longer apart

The ballroom is theirs.

Now they carrion together,

In the dance of the corpses.


Copyright 1988-2004 by Jason J. Marchi. All Rights Reserved. No portion of the text of these pages may be reprinted or stored in any form whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except when quoted briefly for purposes of review.