So close to Shakespeare’s corpse,
In Metaphor;
That I can taste the salt & oil –
Upon his skin.
Smell the must of dust upon his skull.
Running my hands –
Along centuries old,
Fragile strings,
Mourning The Marionette Men of old.
Less than a thousand to go,
William.
Then my Legend,
Eclipses yours.
Shakespeare’s Corpse.
