Crypt Walking

We're somehow indebted

to life's traumas,

its dramas and tragedies.

Not because it

makes us grow

or anything.

Not that




It's just something

to write about.

It facilitates the inspiration

for those primal shouts,

when stanzas are


and jotting them down

is laughably natural

thanks to the pain.

So then what do we script

when the crypt's been emptied?

Or do we just

look for another corpse

so that we may eulogize

how it stings?

I may get lynched

for saying this but

we're kind of just waiting

for the next heartbreak,

the next breakbeat,

the next beating

of our sorrow

into rhythm

and rhyme.

Man, we love to sing.

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