Thursday, June 2, 2011

A Wake

image borrowed from trulyfool


A Wake


This might be said about the death

of anyone: that its quick memory springs
from live mouths around a table

that someone is always looking at you
when you bring it up, your tone
fore-fashioned, grave --

an entourage frail as the body itself nods,
and then a matter of drinking and eating

and for some, fucking. Because
when bodies grow cold, the spirit rises
and swoops

and while the finally sedate fall
into flimsy gravity

others swivel and clutch.
They insist on it.


Trulyfool

Posted over on his site Light at the end of the Tether
Listed as #65 over on Magpie Tales 67

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