The wasted skin
That folds over itself
Sags around his mandible
Sprouting unkempt hair
Pathetically gray
It begins to stretch
Around his starveling frame
Of a face
And parses his lips
And his rickety voice
Crawls through the air
A sudden moment of clarity
Escapes his crumbling mind
He is alive
He is going to die
He wants to be buried
He tells us exactly where
And we realize
He is aware
And a younger man says
"Thank you Father"
The last time I saw him
Wrapped in a thin blanket
Struggling to even walk
It hurt
And it helped no one
And now
It is happening all over again
To his faithful widow
And I do not want to go
But it is my duty
As a grandson
To be reminded
What I will lose
And what I will become myself
Every sound here is made using Megan Mitchell's voice, even though the music often sounds more like Earth’s vibrations than a human singing. Bandcamp Album of the Day Mar 28, 2023