Cadaver Party

I like that some of my cells won't know I'm

dead but party on as though as

host I'd gone to bed and

left them to it while they shout

"Loser!" and turn up the music, break out the

drugs, search my house for something

serious to drink and it will be

several cold dawns before they feel the

lack of food and warmth and

realise that the

doors are locked.

Elsewhere other guests ignore the noise

decide to bide their time and

sleep and dream of all that

nutritious gloop I will provide while

in the attic one tiny bit of

grit imagines deep time and the

Sun's last despairing belch

spraying them all starward

whizzing past each other yelling "Hey!

Great party!

When's the next?"