Our dead arrest us as we wereFrozen and heavy as facesBeneath the glassy riverUnder a darkened sky.
Time never waitedWhen young, I, and dyingCould be found swinging easyPleased freely by the old winds wheezingI, warbling, ringing…
Fickle time has slipped away,leaving you alone and still.So little is left to say.
Apologies to WCW & TSE
Everything dependsupon a bright bluefolding chair bought ata yard salefor…
Who knows where the time goes?
All those yearsthoughtlessly carriedin my pocketsemptied out quickly.
Seventeen years since last they sang shrill hymns tothe ordinary sky.
They die, those old oneswho survived the Depression,knew hunger and struggle,who fought a desperate war,kids themselves…
“At the end of the fight, a tombstone white…”
The dying never stops.