Poem Hunter
FJ ( / )


You lie in a state of change, body of wax and flesh
Carved smooth inside your archaic dress as once
You slept, arriving home late through the rain, so
Now never again. Footstep. Footstep. Footstep.
Sift us out blind man with your stiff white shell yet
Empty. They have all seen your face printed black
On pages with countless languages and remember
Distinct edges. You are boxed and sent, scentful as
Lilies, pale gloss, lingering musk of death. Never
Heard you speak but the plastic long since ached
Through your veins, your heart a red suspended
Lump, your throat a clot of frozen meat laminate.
Again, again, distanced tour-groups glimpse what
Lies beneath the lake in winter (a splinter of light,
From shadows of dusk declining to a night absent
Of stars) . Hush. Here in our homage to thought,
Old skin, here one is remoter than eternity.

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Comments (1)

hummm....do you think capitalism make people happy.....?