423b2e
423b2e

10.30.2012

book of the dead




"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,
Like crows
Fighting for space, for survival
In a world where everything
Is consumed.
After awhile their stories
Become as harlequin as fairy tales.
I follow them like religion,
Keeping alive
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

xxx

4 comments:

J Cosmo Newbery said...

Tonight I wore a pink wig and drank blue wine. But that is another story.

red dirt girl said...

Hmmm ..... sounds like a good intro to a poem!

xxx

goatman said...

If it is true that rebirth progresses until enlightenment, how then to explain the increasing quantity of souls?

red dirt girl said...

Hmmmm ..... interesting question, goatman.

Perhaps the 'generator' of souls has kicked it up a notch (new technology and modernization of course) and can crank those souls out faster than you can say 'Mississippi'!!

Why make a new soul?? Heaven only knows ... :-)

(I'm teasing you, of course)
xxx