on the idea of death
It comes; the tongue would
penetrate, string her up but
never does; rolls instead
the pearl, & lingers there.
The cat, for instance, has her mind
shut to it. Granted, the tail flickers
& her ears twitch as if she’s heard
death’s shadow; next minute
tho she knows nothing.
The dead stopped in cubicles like graves
off the long corridor. Entered
one. Even that/it – failed to connect,
& you so morbid, drained of blood.
He became, flexible. Strolled with light step
back to the street, the pale sky of morning.
Lets slip his cigarette
when the hearse pulls in &
stiffens, during the eulogy.