Submitted by Willie Smith
About time somebody found me.
Slid me into the bag, dumped
me on the gurney, wheeled me
into the van, motored me downtown
to the morgue. Two weeks, they decide,
decomposing in the bushes – there
at the base of the soundwall
guarding the strip park
from the freeway’s uproar. Foul
play ruled out. Likely exposure or drugs or,
at the apparent age of about fifty, general
overall collapse of the system. Information,
they say, never lost. Basic universal principle.
My particulars, incidentals, dental charts,
twinkles, tears, giggles, curses, long stares into disuse
and boredom… Listen: Can you mine the tale – nosing
the rockrose, the boxwood – that is mine, now yours?
Can you dig being – everything untied, loosened,
scattered to the wind – not?
Photo Credit: Perspective: Madame Recamier by David – Rene Magritte
VERY good! 🙂
Can I submit I’m kinda looking for exposure
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Sorry I posted before you told me to😶
That’s alright! 🙂
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I enjoyed this Willie. Your first line grabbed me and held me to the end, where I could not imagine being not. I can, however, dig my ashes being scattered to the wind.
This poem evokes a deep sense of death and mortality.