"Gagosian in the Land of the Dead,
Stepping on the Tale of a Rainbow."
Disturbing The Dead
You have asked of me
an utterly frank discourse
about the small ghosts
who clutter my curd.
What am I most afraid of?
you ask, punching holes
in my skin, bloodless
and swollen like insect bites.
Staring you down won't
work. I know because
I tried that aeons before
now in burial
grounds so ancient rhyme
was not yet an invention
and men did not write.
April 9, 2016 11:30 AM
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The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.