my death

Twixt the spring’s time is nigh

Will I be drowned

And to the unhuman eyes I say good bye

(gargled through my own blood as I choke).

At first I will be blissfully unaware;

That my meandering within the pristine Alberta forest

Will lead to a psychotic ninja squirrel lair,

To which no man must know.

The assault will be brutal and fierce,

Without second to protect or defend,

The soft flesh of my throat will those razor’d incisors pierce,

The five furred warriors ensuring my silence.

Just below a tree’d burrow

Lies my skull

Buried half ‘neath in a furrow;

Gnawed from its rightful place.

Twas no quickened endeavor

Nay, the hours passed slow

‘til finally the  throaty sinews did sever;

weakened, unwhole, ribboned.

My headless corpse maggotly being consumed into mush

(hastened by the bright summer sun)

will soon fall through it’s cradling bush,

leaving no trace I was even upon the Earth.

All too soon afterward the search party will accept

That contrary to my yearly solitary sojourn experience,

My luck at survival finally proven not to be as adept,

And forever I will rest uncovered from nature’s wrath.

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4 thoughts on “my death

    1. Thanks! I suppose the best way to explain this one is that I was in a cheeky mood when I dreamt this one. It had been after night after night of replaying various childhood memories, mostly involving a friend of mine’s grandmother. She was very hard on me, which I never held any bad feelings about – after all I was just a pudgy white kid hanging around her grandson (who was Native Canadian). She lived on the reserve and was seen as a version of a medicine woman, which meant she knew about certain plants, the old legends and still held on to the Cree language that had almost been wiped out thanks to the Canadian government and Church run residential schools (which is also why I tended to get my ass handed to me on a platter by almost everyone whenever I went there; there was and still is a tremendous amount of hostility towards Whites). Anyhow, one of the things she liked to do was mess with my mind with her “predictions” of my future. One of them happened to be a foretelling of when I would die and how (She also named me the destroyer/saviour, which has had all sorts of different connotations for me). It wasn’t squirrels that will be my undoing; I’m learning to interpret her words far differently than I did for most of my life. So why squirrels? Back in the day the woman decided to declare that the strongest animal totem that surrounded me was that of the squirrel. Think of it in these terms: while most of the Native kids were being told they had totems of bears, beavers, bobcats, cougars, wolves…and I get told that I’m a friggin’ squirrel. It seems sort of ironic that it would be her grandson who would gain a taste for nuts in the mouth….

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