neatly done, with practiced strokes

when I was small, I thought a soul had bones
your bones
it's anchored on
and when you die, here comes the knife
to cut through soul, and slice
along each white, long bone
slides blade. It pares
away the ligaments
and shears
connective webs.
Your soul is freed
and flayed
and laid
to weep and bleed
on tray, with sheets
- translucent, white -
of dry wax paper. Pray,

goodnight

.