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Sunday, May 2, 2010

Why Won't the Dead Sleep?


I sleep in sadness;
Or else sadness weeps
Weary and diffident,
Around the world, entangled
In morose grey deeps.

Sad in your gladness,
That I can't participate;
In torpors I circumnavigate
The whirling ocean, gravitate-
Would wish that I could burn.

Wish, to feel anything at all:
That love had me in thrall,
Or hatred made a mess 
Of my well ordered senses;
Life: this just is.

Bite me or kiss me,
Wake me up; enlist me,
My dreams grown fainter than a wisp
Nearly drowned in status quo,
When all I wanted, to flame or glow.

There's no time
As life grows taller 
Than a winter shadow,
And strangles your words:
Where did glad go?

I chase myself around a corner,
Find no one's waiting there,
For no one to grasp hold;
There's a vacancy inside me
It's colder than cold.

Hell's a moderate place, at best
Everyone's happy and soooo well-fed;
Watching endless hours, of a tv show:
Please set me on fire-
Don't kill me slow.

Without Proximity

Humans think the whole earth                                              
Should subjugate itself beneath their feet;
Even their religions cry out
That they are meant to dominate this world;
Animal life hides at their approach;
Even their smell is unusual,
Camouflaged by many substances
That they put upon the body;
Godlike, they annoint themselves
With the essence of flowers,
And animal secretions  which waft into the air
From their body's censors-
And what other animal can kill or maim,
Without proximity?

Sleep Soundly Curse



There are thoughts I'd not allow to think, of you;
Though they carry you off in your sleep some night;
These words I shall not write down of you:
Asleep in my past, where you have no right.

They'll carry you off in your sleep, some night;
Beware, beware, for the time is late,
Sound asleep in the past, where you've no right,
An interloper seals his certain fate.

Beware, beware, for the time is late,
And you will die, inside those walls,
An interloper seals his certain fate;
Sleep soundly: till the anvil falls.

And you will die, inside those walls;
The ghosts of my loved ones number your breaths,
So sleep soundly, till that anvil falls;
For every nightmare's a new little death.

The ghosts of my loved ones number your breaths;
Though there are thoughts I'd not think of you,
And every nightmare's a new little death-
Though I'll write nothing down, of you.