Day 18: Gravestones

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

shown below.

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.





Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: