Remains [WARNING-to the squeamish, do not prod the rubble]

8 08 2010

We had fed the heart on fantasies,

The hearts grown brutal from the fare

Someone killed the bird.  Perhaps you might tell me whom. Hawk, crow, cat, coyote.  Racoon, rat

human?

We need empathy, we need  eyes that can still weep

I saw the remains last week and I saw them again today, but more torn; as if someone had considered the wings and breast a feast of some sort but gave up after ripping everything apart in preparation for the meal.  I could smell them today.

the gray air haunted by hawks.

I usually throw flowers on corpses I find.  It is my way of recognizing that the creature was once alive.

I dropped a clover flower on the body of the rat–itself decomposing on the     rainy sidewalk.

Do you know why I stumbled upon so many dead today?

Why?

Nothing strange

I feel I am on the interstices of life right now–in a strange way. And these little dead bodies that are nearly not bodies anymore–

I cannot/Tell you how strange

where are the beings that inhabited them once?

And now before the Door

a Face

I never saw before

&*&*&*&*&

quotes from William Butler Yeats, Robinson Jeffers, Emily Dickinson, Lydia Millet



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