Friday, July 27, 2012

The Modern Book of The Dead

I am the beewulf now
Crusted beard and hard hands clutching gravel
feet racing at no real pace through sticks and snow and snakes
the warrior at once the wild child, the suckling babe
I see a red cloud and make the mist my home

I am the straight man now
Cut from angles, hewn from sheet rock
The lover of stars spangled and moving strobes
Cars that shoot at my side as I walk in line
I see a green cloud, opened my mouth

My parents embracing in a blue cloud
I enter - jealous, lustful
Found a canal, took gulps by the cupful
Reborn into this sensory blitz
Reborn, but already dead
All these lights are in my head

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