"You're not dead until there isn't a flash of you in memory left
anywhere." -S.J. Marks
Tonight I allow the dead
To live inside me,
To assemble their bleach white bones,
Their string of Told-You-So's.
I have kept within me their off time alphabet.
The dead move me,
As anything beautiful and extinct,
Made perfect by absence.
There are so many,
Fighting for space, for survival
In a world where everything
After awhile their stories
Become as harlequin as fairy tales.
I follow them like religion,
The old woman who slept under bridges,
The boy who could tame wild animals with his singing,
The girl who ate make believe.
~ by Corinne De Winter