by August 21, 2016 0 comments

went to the cemetery –
hoping to dig my own grave
look at all these people –
buried away
sky was overcast –
tears were swept back
it seems peaceful and comforting
not at all like death in his early years

well, now look I’ve written some lines
a poem from other people’s dead lives –
current was blocked
that no doctor could stop

I’m writing in red –
unable to find the pen that writes in blue
as b4
habits bespoke –
there is something more than silence something worse –
coming out –
the ticking of the clock
like the train from the tunnel
the sudden light fierce –

books should not be this quiet
they should be crying from the shelves –
life should not be passed should be encountered –
and still that clock ticks

alone with blonde librarian
imagine the romantic possibilities
triumphing any of the stories
in these novels –
I bet

mum of a girl I once knew comes
inside for a look
I know you wouldn’t recognize me now
I think
nobody ever does –
I haven’t changed –

found blue pen.

editors note:

So high one can go with the right color of ink. – mh clay

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