No stink

The body lay on the garbage heap

Camouflaged

Partly in appearance

But completely, in spirit

Wasted, broken and discarded

The question is not: 'why does it feel repulsive?'

The question is: 'why does it feel repulsive, now?'

When in life, it did not matter

But dead matter needs to be attended to

Else it would stink our fragrant lives

Ah, we won't stink when we're dead

They'll take care

The question is not: 'why does it feel repulsive?'

The question is: 'why does it feel repulsive, now?'

Offered a ritual In death

But none in life

Yet the vagabond remains a vagabond

In life and in death

The question is not: 'why does it feel repulsive?'

The question is neither: 'why does it feel repulsive, now?'

But 'what's repulsive about that?'