Settled for
second best, third and last
a few words
an epitaph
to a dead woman
who was never alive.
Poetry
Two Hundred and Six Bones
Tongues in torment
brain cells starving in darkness
vacant eyes
and necks bent in permanent subjugation to the Gods who dwell in the hills of Bellevue and are housed in finery by Lake Union.
The human body
a vessel for technology to travel by
an over designed mode of transportation for a bit of light and sound trapped in plastic.
206 bones, six liters of blood, six million years of evolution
all promised to next years model
a phone in a case bedazzled and cared for
slimmer, faster and more desirable
then we will ever be
to each other.
This Is The Way It Works
When I ride the bus
or I am out walking my dog
when I’m on the train
and going no where
in particular at all
I like to watch people
I like to take their faces into my head
inch by inch
in small
and delicate
bites.
I can take my time
because they are on their phones
trapped in a screen
unable to look up and away
I can steal their expressions, collect their hands, shoulders, their eyes
put them in my memory to be devoured
at a later time
in
a story or a poem .
When I am out
loose and invisible in a sleeping world
I feel like a gargoyle
on a wall.
Look.
Up.
Here I am.
Hello.
Shall we begin….
with
Once upon a time.
Oh. No.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Once
but not for the first time
because
it happens more often then you would think
someone committed suicide
in the cemetery where I worked.
I think that when that happens
it is so loud
it wakes the dead
and when the dead open their eyes and realize what has happened
I think
it makes them sad.
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