In the land of the living,
the spirits have no tongues
and so the dead must find
other ways to speak.
An ambulance screams in pain
as the skin of reality is peeled away.
You must pass naked into the next world.
No part of you that longs for life will go.
The people in the passing cars won't see you exit.
They'll only see a body stilled,
divested of its will to fight,
an alien form that no longer bears
any resemblance to the flesh they inhabit.
They open their mouths and words pour out,
each syllable as meaningless as the one before.
Drowning in their own streams of sound,
they do not hear those who hover
in the space between life and death.
There is nothing here to keep you.
Take the coin that your life bought you
and pay your way onto the ferry.
No one will be looking for you.
Don't ever look back.

12/30/2009

Author's Note: I feel like once upon a time, I wrote poetry. That this was a time so long ago, I don't remember who that person was, or why she felt compelled to write. Every now and then, words will clamor and I'll dutifully string them together, but it doesn't feel the same. I don't think it feels the same. I don't even know how it felt. I'm just guessing.

Posted on 01/03/2010
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