Saturday, May 09, 2009

New Poem: The Dead

The Dead

I have lost the voices of the dead,
once heard, their raspy warnings
pretending to be God, pretending
to know what comes next

empty boxes roll into the furnace:
I watched my father flame out
in a plywood coffin, the glue
stinking more than the flesh

they are not here, they are gone
someplace other, and yet they spoke
all those years, and then they went
away, left me alone to make sense

curse them, I think, wandering
in this desert called being;
why did they leave me, as everyone
has left me, covered in dust and leaves?

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