Elegy
10 Days
death has arrived
at my door again
ninth day in a row.
it reaches out
in whispers
to snap once and for all
the frail fiber
on which I am hung
to the edge of life.
this time I will go to bed
without hope in my heart
knowing full well
that this pain will not drop.
this pain will not drop
for here it is.
its cure lost
from memory
and from theory.
the pride of ruin appears
on the foaming mouth.
death has arrived
at my door again
tenth day in a row.
I think I'll go.
Be Mine
oh live wire, quiet fire and passing train be mine be mine tired liver, oh deep river falling bridge and leaking boat be mine be mine frozen brain and chronic pain dark alleys and raging blades be mine be mine if I were a little brave I could myself be mine but you dear friend be mine be mine
Pride
dead dead dead all dead stale is the vibe rot is the mood disorientation of the evening frustration of the night. once in a while on the rock-bed of ashes a little butterfly carefully flutters its wings among the dead dried fallen leaves and it peeps its head out oh is it safe to fly? and the leaves ruffle as the delicate bug lifts off the ground I immediately pull out the baseball bat even though my weak hands should do it and I smack that ugly bug to the ground and beat it and beat it and beat it and beat it until it disappears I shall beat it. let them know that despair has arrived. him whose sweet aroma only had come before has now arrived by himself. and he will be my friend forever until my gentle One Who sits by the river with teary eyes visits both me and despair with His torch.
Moses said to them, “It is the bread the Lord has given you to eat. This is what the Lord has commanded: ‘Everyone is to gather as much as they need … Then Moses said to them, ‘No one is to keep any of it until morning.’” However, some of them paid no attention to Moses; they kept part of it until morning, but it was full of maggots and began to smell.
Exodus 16:15–20self reference
Am I fine, or am I not? Everyday something is dying. As I speak of this some trace of thoughts come and pass. I can press on. I wish decay was not the rule of the universe. Sometimes it's hard to believe that it is all due to Adam's sin. My neck pain and my shrinking lungs, my vigorous greed to be desired, just because of Adam? “My this, my that” all the time … come, let us fend for ourselves for perhaps God won't … Adam sins to this day and all things groan.