"My barn having burnt down, I could now see the moon"
It’s strange how everywhere
I turn my head these days
I see only people dying.
Each page flip
Each channel change
Each item in my news feed
brings a death notice
and a reminder
that I’m next.
It’s like when you finally
get the cash together
and drive off the lot
your shiny new sedan
and by the time you get
the 10 blocks home
you’ve seen 3 others just like it
and all you can do
all you can ever do
is just sit back and
enjoy the ride
because you ain’t going far.
When I die let it be quick
a surprise
waking up in a strange bed
after a good night out on the town
looking around, smiling
just happy to be here, there
anywhere.
Let me not see it coming
when it comes
a bullet to the back of the head
a piano falling from the sky
sweet poison in my drink
death taking me from behind
lights out
its dark
I’m on the other side.
Everyone should have to dig a grave.
Choose a spot, break the earth
dig and dig and dig
jump in
dig and dig and dig
cold splashes on the face
bailing water
from the always giving, taking earth.
Everyone should have to dig a grave.
Then, feeling the arms light
hearing the smuck
as the body lands and settles
seeing how the first shovel full
lands and
illuminates the face
for a moment
though the earth abideth forever.
Everyone should have to dig a grave.
Digging, digging, digging
then, a few stones on top
a few quiet thoughts and
the wiping of the brow
the sun on the damp soil
finally, the back turned.
Everyone should have to dig a grave.
The day is coming
when this will be deemed a talent.
Just in case
you hear of my demise
perhaps
a piano caught me under it
by surprise or
a measly microbe
cut me down mid-stride or
if lucky
I never woke up from
a better dream or
even luckier
I bid adieu
by the wave of my own hand.
Just in case,
you get that phone call or email or
read of it in the back pages
of the local paper,
this is just to say
I’m fine with it.
I am here
this is enough
like the last seed pushes
through the rougher rough.
Want, desire, need
abstract things I
no longer bleed.
This apple now in my mouth.
I am here.
Piss, shit, breath and spit.
I lounge and loafe.
There is no longer any
getting on with it.
For others there
the buzz of progress, nicer hair.
I lift my glass.
I walk not there.
I am here.
This is enough.
Like the glistening tired ant pulls
the large leaf through the rough.