Slow Motive Carriage

"Because I could not stop for Death, 
He kindly stopped for me" -Emily Dickinson

And I looked, and behold a pale Ford: 
and his name who sat inside it was Death, 
and a knell followed with him. And power 
was given to him over the poorest part 
of the heart, to fill with a word, 
and with Summer, and with breath, 
and with the beats of the heart. 
And when he slipped out of the fifth gear, 
I saw under the falter the soles 
of them that were maimed for this 
absurd fraud, and for the sanctimony 
under which they cycled. This scavenger

prowls under the guise of salvager. 
His trophies are grotesqueries strapped 
just above the headliner: heads lined 
like mementoes of the living. They gaze 
with inanimate feelings while a song 
is written out in a signature of time 
with which I am not familiar. 
Their mouths open and they begin 
to sing. I surmise that their audience 
is somewhere towards eternity.

See Death's Chariot here: http://instagram.com/p/c7-6mHITNy/