Toora loora




I saw you living in a casket

your feet turned upward

your head below
two weeks ago I saw you rocking in white wicker
singing toora loora

now your irish eyes no longer flutter and roll
they sink and close
your lips do not mutter and hum
and my mother no longer bathes your face and hands
that is what death looks like from the outside
but what did you see from within?


was it a beacon?
a spinning lighthouse in the atlantic of your mind
maybe it was nothing but a feeling
something warm sweeping you up

and tugging your soul out through your toes

grandfather hunted rabbits
until one day he heard them speak
"mercy mercy" they said


maybe it was the same spectral voice you heard
when the lights weren't there
and all sensations were void
and in the coming quietus you heard this voice
singing toora loora li
hush now don't you cry





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