prose fragment

a quiet life is best lay by the stones of the fire wait for the sun to pinch the margin of the dark love is not sickness or rest or health it is dignity I’m not waiting I’m simply here fingers trembling on your thighs clean and quiet as grief angels after death return to earth for the burial of their voice earth dug up flowers strewn about you have fallen out of love more suddenly than you realized sorrow-sheathed earth-buried poems open outcrying the dead you knew before I was the person called to rest silence and sleep shape the suffocating soul back into the music of what was the night sky pits dug out from the spark of creation my own anxieties tell me something else that nothing is created and nothing endures that I’m here faceless facing nothing a never-ending ghost heal closed the open beginning it is an ending now like a circle drawn past its origins its hard to know why we suffer but it doesn’t make a difference knowing is besides the point you simply have to endure demented doves showing us where the roses are sick unto themselves shattering all light and reason tell me where we stand the rain is gray and polluted like your hair and teeth we are phosphorescent and scared I crushed the sun between my jaws until the light ran down my chin and the planets were plunged into darkness the world has grown too young and is growing younger all the time so we have to reach back relentlessly to the world of old things sad beyond words hack through my skull remove my brain separate the layers lay them out on microfilm project my funeral over the roof of the sky I crushed the sun between my jaws until the light ran down my chin and the planets were plunged into darkness