wishes of a poet trying to avoid foolishness
my lifetime verse is listed in reams
my fingers whisper only pianissimo songs
dying
like other dreams quickly vying for death’s grace
who will recite simple prayers for its eternal soul
when I cover it in soft loamy earth?
wild violets
planted in ceramic under a glass bell
poised atop a marble tombstone, purple
like the bruises clawing at my soul
pain does not…
allow my freedom
the least movement jars each nerve
overdose or amputation might kill temptation
I cannot write
brushes only paint in abstract splashes
music, that once sparkled with two hands
has become inaudible sound
spoken with a shaky voice
caught by posterity’s microphone
I have epitaphs to sell
the silent hand
[2012.2.4…a]
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