The Dying Body Chronicles 28: The graveside monologue
soon the river's endless thirst
Bring waters of tongue
the dialogue at the grave
It can be rainfall or sweat spatter
the undertaker's animated brow
Give space so the empty identity
behind naming a body
takes seat where God's
chariot of fire will come
Leaves
swollen with yesterday rains
ride cold dawn
The wind will pull apart
grieving for meanings
unhurting each other
There is always friction
on the earth
Soon silence
soon the waiting of pine trees
Bring journeys from old books
into the roots
of this denatured rest
This is where we bury
the anthology of our bodies
Resist their stories
Bring fruits the tree of knowledge
Know things; black cloth
& black string around neck
means someone's song touched
the epicenter of God's desire
Soon dirt
soon wreath
soon the road will turn on itself
a desperate need
crawling back into yesterday
Then this poem means nothing
a rifling of catch phrases
making pain numb itself
into believing it is the ghost
of something deeper
Quest among the tomb
for the ritual in saying
half formed thoughts
Brandish body before God
like a statement of fact;
look I too am dying
Peel the scabs apart
so each lip will have agency
Do not look down to the moss
growing on your knees
Stretch your wrists before priest
of any deity hidden in your blood
Let him point where it hurts
to you because you've been cutting
into rigor mortis
a mortician
& cause of life cannot be found
Drink & smoke the layer
of loneliness away
Say I do not mourn
I have seen the earth drink
human body like rain showers
I cannot weep
Sleep
Soon loss
soon grief
soon God
when will I too be enough
to fit into a small inheritance
of pine wood & embalming fluid
