The Literal Metaphor That Is Now Robert Poem by John W. McEwers

Worms crawl where hair once flowed in a mane that Black Stallion would kill Secretariat to have along his back.
Maggots eat out the remaining globs of decay from the brain that once would have made Carl Sagan beat up Neil Degrasse Tyson for the chance to pick.
A coffin creaks beneath the weight of the earth that once shook with his every step, surrounding the bones once surrounded by a soul not even Otis Redding could hope to match.
The hands of Michelangelo and the feet of Fred Astaire.
And now its all black mush.
Robert laid bare.