Zmiana sposobu prezentacji
I can see the day every night
as I wrestle myself to sleep.
The day when the cats can't wake me.
When you can't reach me on the phone.
When you finally stop by a day later
just in case I had fallen down the stairs
or choked on the poison sky in a glass
of water that I forgot to filter.
That day has a certain look to it.
That of a house vacated during an emergency,
and no time to pack a bag
or worry about the cats' next meal,
or who will dispose of my life's work
which didn't count for anything
to anyone
except to me
and I am gone.
I bury my crimes with their illusions.
The dirt breathes.
Cemeteries are Hospitals where our
money disappears.
I imagine all the empty coffins with
their mouthes open
waiting to be fed
with the dust in the light.
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