Death and Other Stuff

Faded socks, charcoal, sulfurous talks

Of old men dying far too young, and chalk

Sentences on withered spines and old tree barks,

Bark out a tale of loss and tears on city blocks.

The mockingbird, so called because it mocks

My ecstasy in broken English, homeward flocks;

And me, the lonely virgin dancing dances, walking walks

Cannot perceive in loneliness my own shadow on ocean rocks.

 

.

And ships and planes that carried me alone on Sunday mornings,

Carried rust and strangled necks and spangled flags and stained gold flags.

And talks of sorrow bring tomorrow faster now, today.

Mourning in the morning the innocent, and in the night the light of day.

And when all is said, and in your head, there’s nothing more to say

Greet in spangled flags and stained gold boxes, the decay.

 

.

How quickly I have seen your tears travel down your cheeks,

And your tongue in ornate dances, grow secluded, and grow meek

Your eyes have lost their sparkle, lost their fluster, so to speak,

So to speak of old dumb boys, and old dumb girls, and to grow weak,

Grovel on the gravel like a dog who on this day became a father

Or a bitch who birthed last week

And the lord on who’s lap you’ll cry shall give you what you seek.

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