Jaia Papitz's picture


I love life at the funeral
In the morning, when the deceased is unknown, warm and still hated
When the tax man is about to start his rounds, ruthless and docile
When the fingernails of the departed are still growing in the shoes he hated every day
It’s when I light a cigarette
Before the cries envelop the fences
Before the arrangements are overwhelming
Then, I have a drink
Just before

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