For now, An epigraph

Refrain yourself from eulogizing me 

antemortem; the hot blood has not yet 

spilt, so do not drink it — I am sorry 

to be vague – Recall my soul in brief, beg 

Death to reanimate my mooncalf 

story corpse when the time has arrived – 

But it has not. For now, an epigraph, 

composed cyclically, for the time is nigh: 

‘You ask me if I meant always in a 

good way – I consecrate my viscera 

in my beloveds’ arms – I make this a 

chapel – O, Mother, take my skin, flayed 

by a mirrored blade. O, friends, please 

pick yourself an eyelash or digit. O, 

Father, rest – Let your antithesis freeze; 

lest the liquor cook off. I love you so – 

This must mean I have withered afore 

I indulge your sickness. But once I have 

rotted: drink, drunken yourself on liquor 

passed through blood. And, O, sweet angel, only love 

in my life scant of ecdysis – have my 

breath. Kneel over my corpse and press your lips to mine – 

I will breathe into you. O, try 

to keep it always, as you have kept this 

also-ran jester pearled, hallowed, and kind. 

I did not mean always in a good way. 

I leave you with the ebbs and flows of minds 

changed; I leave you with intentions to stay.’ 

And, O, I know I am strange and arcane 

in my epilogues: decipher me while 

you decorate my crypt as the moon wanes; 

I was quite the peculiar child.

It is only natural I’d be a 

peculiar specter. Adorn my grave 

with thirteen drooping ghost orchids – entwine the 

blades of grass into a crown; I will wave 

with my fingers bent into a rose. 

You may eulogize me when I am cold.

About the Author

Riley James Russo is a teenaged author split between Ohio and Pennsylvania. Their first novel, Good Dinner, is available on Amazon now.