Three Poems (May-ish, 2011. Issue 28.)
Flush
Do not despair
you little dead thing, you
so much will be spared you
to speak or to feel or to
know, do not worry
you unclean, you waste
I will not carry you will
not undergo that lessening of
muscle from the stretch of you.
I will hold my whole self in completely.
If I did not
I would think of you
you little dead thing, you
would have to be worth it that
decay of me but now you are
weightless and free, you are
guiltless and gone.
Alternative Fuel
Whatever I was running on
up to this point has run out
become either well-guarded or scarce
risen to over four dollars a gallon.
I will have to find something
else something rich and renewable
I can both create and consume.
I do not know what it is but
today I saw a dad and his daughters
riding past my house on bicycles
and they seemed to be alright.
Out of Doors
Living next to a cemetery is like living
next to two hundred people all taking a nap.
At first their unintrusive presence irks you
though you don't understand how- all they're
doing is not existing- but it occurs to you
one afternoon that what you really are is
jealous. What you really want is just to lie
very still under silken blankets while people
bring you flowers even though you aren't
looking and won't say thank you.
What you really want is to take a long nap. |