Even in death, mobility
(New York Times headline, Oct. 25th, 2011)
Even in death there is movement.
The soul kayaks out,
spirit climbs the Stairmaster,
vision hang-glides,
perception, reception, bungee-jumps,
senses dance, a final drum song.
Even in death, action.
Forces transpire, take hold, transform,
manifest.
The heart still stirring,
brain still carrying
remains of vitality,
now transmitting, dematerializing,
dissolving into
a sacred, intangible world.
Even in death
ethereal ripples.
—
Death rattle
Like a broken kite in a tree
his breath is now irretrievable.
It used to be a deep ocean roll,
a full bellow.
Now it rasps and ripples and skips
like an unconnected, dotted line,
an interrupted reception.
This harsh, static, draw
rebuffs all laws of rhythm, creating its own
bewailing, sputtering, sound.
Raw and aching, inflaming my eardrums
and twisting my heart.
These death decibels are
sorrowful, parting waves.
—
Animal carnage
Death
was
a
sound
outside the window.
Pitiful cries
then crunches,
last yelp
then
slurping,
broke
the
midnight
silence.
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