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Now that I am dead Now that I am dead, I understand why we struggle for life, and why kites clamber up a thread, gripping, gripping at the sky, or I think I do. I just think we must, like the atoms that squeeze light from the sun: it's simply in the nature of our dust to nurture seedlings in congealing streams or sink to hell and melt into those rocks that rise and shine at me across ravines pointless as a goat. Now that I am dead all those veils are wafted from my skin like sunblock, which only let that light in that didn't kill me. Now that I am dead it's open season on my flesh, the toll of life thrums unrestricted in my head: I see a kiss that grips a lover like a vice, a sermon rape the whore it hates, a mother mine her child with her breast's spike, a billions' squalour garnish my viands, all at random. Thus I conclude that we're bobbing in air on threads from children's hands who never grow, who never die, and who never learn humility from mountains or mercy from ants. All they ever do is throw their hands and kites into the sky, bet the chance of our aerodynamics, and discard us that can no longer fly. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2006-07-06 14:22:37
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.60000
Mark,
A quick note to say this is very good!
Got my vote.
Deep thoughts you have......'
Dellena