A foretaste of death

I
saw the deep 
reaches of this sky 
and this sweep
of shredded cloud 
ages ago
and heard the loud 
echo
of that moorhen 
sometime
then

Shrubs mime
snuffed scents and the past 
closes in thick
and fast
as a sick
man’s thoughts at the hour 
of reckoning

Which more dour?

Beckoning 
phantom 
deeds 
sprung from 
buried seeds 
of guilt
or bridges
built
over the rocky ridges 
of each seconds tick 
by some crazy fault 
in the fabric
some halt
in the warp and woof?

What difference 
between standing aloof 
to the picketing fence
of groundbinding laws 
and forcing past
the forever closing jaws 
of last
years?

Now there is none

Nor are there fears 
for when I had run 
untouched by care 
through the green 
fondling a Diana 15
and sure
and dropped unmarked birds 
for the pure
sound I heard
in their forgotten fall

And there is no 
counterpoint to each and all 
I see go
by my eye
to ruffle the free flow 
with hows and whys
and ways to know
its live weight

Call it wasted youth

Say it’s too late

Know its truth

Yea though I stalked 
through that vale of life
and chalked
scores with gun and knife 
leaving a red
swath
of dead
in my path
there was nothing hunted 
and nothing stained 
nothing stunted
nothing gained
nothing in vain
nothing insane
no pain
no Cain
no guilt and no blame

Nothing waxed or waned

All was the same
All was preordained
in the parallel realities 
born
of the possibilities
drawn
by an edgeless brushstroke

And I the one
spoke
alone
animating this spinning wheel 
of life
I the deal 
I the knife
I the victim
I who prey
I the rim
of all I survey

And more
A germ
of thought makes me know 
in human terms
what’s good
and what’s ill
what should
and what will

What matters it
if there’s still quite
a bit
of this road in sight 
before it ceases to roll?

I apprehend
the waiting goal 
and a wayside end

This isn’t death

This world
has held its breath
and the future unfurled

I have seen 
what lies ahead 
and what has been

On my deathbed 
my mind’s eye 
shall stay
open as I die
to this way

And next time around 
my birth
won’t be bound
to some earth
in some random spate 
of lust
between mates
locked in the dust

When this world stops
I will move
with music and drop
into my groove
instead of some slopchute

No fear

I will shoot
clear
of the waste
with that strangled breath

Truth is a foretaste 
of death



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