Was I not
interested in man?
I don’t care a rap
what people are or believe.
must be superhuman
practically becomes a recluse
may be insensitive
That is their business
They come to me.
I lost myself
in the very
properties of their minds
I could touch it, smell it
And all have contributed to my pie
From the very beginning
even more than I myself knew.
William Carlos Williams
reprinted in Narrative Magazine
ABOUT THE DEAD MAN’S HOLIDAY
this is no country for dead men,
thought the one who was feeling peaked.
the dead man was feeling rained on.
troubles poured down on the head of the dead man.
holiday spirits haunted his waking hours.
the dead man had never tried a hot toddy, but wanted one.
he wanted warmth and sweetness and above all alcohol.
the dead man wanted to receive the spirit.
MORE ABOUT THE DEAD MAN’S HOLIDAY
the dead man would have liked to stroll around the neighborhood, looking at fairy lights.
the lights were twinkling at him through his foggy windshield.
red and green and white and plum and amaryllis and blue blue Christmas blue, they winked.
the dead man coaxed the old, not classic, Mustang across the stop street on the hillside, praying.
the clean black pavement was visible beneath the ice, but his crusty black tires did not know that.
the dead man knew as he knew to the foot how far he was from his front door.
still, the night was clear, and there were stars.
the new year beckoned.
at Big Tent Poetry, you can find out more about Dead Man poems, and even read some good ones.
I love the spare functionality of you.
The elegance of your material glows
through its water-smooth age patina.
Subtle, subtle the rounding of your
precise angles. Supple, supple the
give within your strength. Vehicle of
my enjoyment through the cold days
and my pleasure even in your rest.
A man is sitting on a barstool
I hate getting old.
His sidebar drinking pal
But it beats the alternative.
There is an alternative
country music and algebra have alternative sides.
well, IS alternative,
futures, pasts, universes,
A woman is sitting in a chair
I’ve forgotten them
If she had a friend, she can’t
remember, so no one adds:
The forgetting of dementia
is no backward-aging escape
into a new sunlit alt-freedom
You fucking omnipotent God
If you existed, you wouldn’t
do this to us