Move

 

 

Payment received

for services forced bereaved

Laid to rest

arms folded on the chest

Mini fleur in the lapel

from where it was picked

who can tell

The show must go on

for the dresser is a con

Dolled prettier than when alive

Yet able to fool the jive

Will the gold pieces stay

or before lowered snatched away

For what it's worth say goodbye

It's what we all say when they die

Depending who goes first

Last one standing quenches the thirst

Hearing whispers in your ear

settled conscience feels no fear

Look around at others

having poor relations with their mothers

Once the fancy box is lowered

Are you able to move forward

Did you get a final look inside

to take inventory of the one that died

 

Reviews

[.]

. amazingly powerful writing ... the way you say the profoundest existential things is truly remarkable ... i am astonished by the last line ...

we live in the coffins
of those we've lost
to death
and pretend to be alive
at any cost
to earn a breath
while life lies buried
in the debris
of material acquisition
and the super spiritual stupors
that can begin to somehow
justify the debris
talk about raw material
talk about wounds
talk about injuries
talk about healing
and have the silence
of mirrors respond
those that we haven't
looked into
for fear
of what we might see
we don't reflect any more
to reflect
we'd first need to face
our reflection
but we're too blinded
by our images
to even look beyond
what others see in us
and how we can alter that
forgetting easily
that we never look into our own eyes
unless we're looking at us
in a mirror