Monday, September 10, 2012

Talking to Earth

Hey there. Yes you.

You are growing up big aren’t you?
All pregnant with us—or that’s the premise
We’ve decided on top to keep from going insane.
Where have all our friends been going anyways?

I see your games in gravid piles
And I got news for you:
Today it was decided that people would no longer be buried,
But launched into space.

So you know that moment when I was to be lowered
Like a blinking lamp into your tummy?
And the wind was to tousle  
Your clothing in the trees. And the storm
Was to roll right off me like a sheet
Of neatly folded water? A gutterless shed.

Forget about it. The dead deserve a better place.
You are far too navigable and far too weak a conductor
To hold souls.

No more parlors.
No more funeral gags.
The first shovel of derivative goes on and
We imagine heaven.

I know you; I’m wise to your tricks:
You suck up all the juice.
You make the rain fall dryly so we drink
And drink to reconcile with a heave
That you have no policy
With hereafter.

And this means that
I have no music
None
That you can understand.