Sunday, April 09, 2006

My Aunt's Funeral Day

Swing fast and low
overatures
with black sedans moving slowly
over these roads that I have looked at here
hearses
rolling over the roads of my youth
carrying you
the wind is quiet here like horse barns
when noone is looking
and masks shift
and shift and
shift
shaking blankets and
whisking dust
and wind
roads with no interruptions
and interuptions
across you
and across my bed.
Keep rolling roads
and spinning stories
over and under my heart
lift me
You've got to hold on
he says
but I wonder if I need not
as I slice fruit and bring
pots of coffee into this world
and watch you fly away already
in strange nights
in violins
and in staggering women.
Clean heart
slate
lakes
my own.

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