2 novembre 2008

i fell with the clocks backwards
into another time nonexistent or
twice created by us humans and
our constructs—truth like time
and i missed day of the dead honour
for kith and kin—graveyards here
not filled with families gathered
communing and conversing with the gone
and i'm not there cycling past unseen
but it seems that i have been
communicating with archangel messengers
here on earth     in the arts
—an ace of clubs/wands on the sidewalk
canadian tire money in the old burying ground
with autumn leaves between crumbling stones
a medley of dead soldier bottles and cans
mouths open     lie in still green grass
their audience gone the way of revellers
who lean on trees to drunkenly piss
on the trunk and their costume shoes
then stagger into the street to spectre
taxis into stopping for the pile in
of bodies on top of other bodies
—another wild night mass burial
to hurt but so not remember tomorrow

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t: Steamworks Heroica Oatmeal Stout
loc: the write desk
temp: -1 C
sound: Gang of Four Return the Gift