Live

1. Living, Passing

So brazen for you to speak
your heart out in front of these
young art collectors
the business of words in full observance as each catchy phrase
is hand-given in return for
faint but sweet devotion.
The 'ahs' and 'ohs'
are sprinkled in between
your sighs and I nod
as I told myself that I foresaw
this coming

like a storm--- not unwelcome;
these young spectators are
also known as storm junkies,
they are where there are disturbances, and it's not
a bad thing.
I understand the urge
of swallowing a pill
even if there are no more
illnesses in your system.
Poetry spoken
willingly to the world
maybe is the absolute poetry;
But I guess that is where
we will part ways.
My voice is always hoarse
and lethargic so I'd rather
be trodden upon by
accident. I could no longer
deal with any wreckage
so I am now settling for
the memorial services of
my dead words and the solace
it brings to the

mourners who will someday
visit these little graves.
Flowers and candles are not
encouraged but that is what I would love in poetry---
Dead,
but will still attract visitors
when they remember the need
to visit the dead. That way
I will no longer hand out
havoc like a storm
even to willing victims,
for I could no longer handle
the wreckage. Yours is living
and mine is in passing,
but I am not saying
the ceremony you hold
is a bad thing.
This is just me nodding
that I think I saw you
coming.