pax
ONE love, blood, life
I can count on one hand the number of times I have posted in here, but for some reason I wanted to share this poem with someone right away.
Epitaph for an Old Love in New Concrete
You can kill it but you can't forget.
Its voice speaks from furniture in which he sat
and the indelicate tools of his hi-fi trade.
Its demands seep from where you laid it
(deep, deep in the new concrete baking in the sun),
screaming for your strawberries and recognition
like the child renting space in his head.
Just don't exhume whatever's left.
Decomposition commences upon death
and it will confront you, rotting, half-gone
between the bones and caresses.
Leave it buried so that all you have to fight
is the voice: illogical, ranting, infantile,
struggling in its own way against your forgottenism.
Epitaph for an Old Love in New Concrete
You can kill it but you can't forget.
Its voice speaks from furniture in which he sat
and the indelicate tools of his hi-fi trade.
Its demands seep from where you laid it
(deep, deep in the new concrete baking in the sun),
screaming for your strawberries and recognition
like the child renting space in his head.
Just don't exhume whatever's left.
Decomposition commences upon death
and it will confront you, rotting, half-gone
between the bones and caresses.
Leave it buried so that all you have to fight
is the voice: illogical, ranting, infantile,
struggling in its own way against your forgottenism.
