The resurrection men

Stare into my open grave

Sweaty hands and muddied fingers

Pry open the door

Dirt falls on rigid body

And dear belongings

Leaving the excavation site

I am exchanged

Midnight cash from clean hands to filthy

The transaction is complete and wheeled inside

Surrounded by light

And iodoform I can’t smell

The pink skin of the masked men

Sterilized and covered in white

I am stripped of dignity

And my burial garments

Incision after incision

I am cut open

My glass eyes reflect nothing

I feel nothing as

White doves, monarch butterflies,

Maggots and backed-up intestines

Escape my stomach