Here Lies the Doubly Dead

Here lies the doubly dead;

O, how the mighty are fallen!

Rootless,

branchless,

drowned for good measure,

Rasputin’s fellow,

a liturgy to terror.

Shaved from the Tree of Life

with bested blade,

your clutch at green

becomes a sickly parody,

a humorless and desperate joke.

Denial let you cling to life-support

while the summer sun poured down,

but here you lie,

destined to wear

the bottom of a boot.