#212 - and here we are in their afterlife

1.8.20

212

and here we are in their afterlife

on the horse’s birthday

 

among the objects of voyage

live a kind of pyramid

ironies to burn

 

see them in a cloud of flour

under the weight of some art

a poem

 

we forget their voices

reading what they left

 

old ledger entries

still true as ink to dry

 

in chimney whim

first thingery

buggerit

 

remember the tipple though

pleasure will always look forward to us

 

so often we say ‘they would…’

meaning if they were here

when they’re not

 

it’s only time this trouble

 

shade cast over

and drag the cursor

 

here we are still

and again

an archive dive in life

 

like a line that haunts till written

I still have the last cigar

 

all goes to not mattering

never say never

 

the weirdness of the world’s my wonder

every blinking day