Indefatigable 

The false self so damn obdurate,

Not only shows up at its own funeral,

      (alone, always alone)

But sits arms folded across a stony chest

Grinding teeth into clench-jawed

Memories of all those ill-gotten winnings,

those sneers, that turning away from Life,

Readied to toss the first shovelful 

Of dirt onto its descending casket

As it drools decades of spittle

Laced with unfelt regret

Onto grassy ground.