Mary is thinking, the mother of God
The last thing I owned –
Charged, smiling, a chicken advocate
Oh the girl I love.
She looked beyond me – linking action
Of this, no major importance – this heaven – what good art does best,
This life in macros/latex/packages/tools but you
No longer there.
There is good – here is disarray.
This sparse fiction where we speculate your end
Is tragic and you are boxwood blind and branded
Halfway to up is up and down is down –
This contagious thought does nestle in my conscious
Stuffing vol-au-vents with their prawny heads into tight-lipped jaws,
This is unhealthy but better than dorm food.
We are halfway though playing Vivaldi then time does lapse and I forget.
Suddenly I am up standing through “Hard to Do” by David Fleming so the end is finally here
For the Charlotte hornets
And David’s head has already twisted down to stare blindly at that flashing screen
For technical support, intermittent relief from this –
Anyway this but – not important – to check the latest scores
And find something other than you to be angry at.
Avoid conflict, consult Google and move on.
Six foot deep you are safe in the dirt but we are robbed.
Roll half-baked tobacco, find strings and circles in this solution car-park.
Completely blank // Progressive metal // Endless expansion of sound but
I am not answering for the world is being run by somebody other than myself
I am King Lear.
And that book that we did not know was proudly read today before us all disbelievers but silent –
This paper mission for faith had us risen and validated;
An interactive comic book meant to help students process their thoughts and feelings –
This was water that we were required to drink and did so
But not in hope.
This was tradition, grand and operative in style for us to cling to
Our savior bellowed in baritone style
Course through the air to guide us blind souls
To triangle sandwiches, tea, and custard creams,
Through endless poking chatter, to watch the car to listen- and to leave.
Nothing is important nor granted nor solid.
Nothing is worth more than this day
Each gesture marks our skin with blackened ink to stay there
Sickly laughter out of hallowed cheeks to creep out
Spray others –
Death is funny
Or at least through tears such restless effort
Broken words and scheduled singing
Is peculiar among the gravestones
Lied and forgotten.