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Saturday, March 26, 2011

Resurrected death in me

Craig Hoffman is dead to me
as dead as dry leaves on a sure fated plant
bought at Kmart for a 1.99 in the garden aisle
as dead as the sun as it blasts out your eyes
as dead as the etchings of my daughter's name on her grave
life within us, between us, dead
every intended word, whispered, dissolved
through the echo-less vibes of history
a Van Gogh sketching
unpeeling itself
to the core of the bloodless ear
Craig Hoffman is dead to me
and my cries echo
through his deaf-less ear
He hears me no more
like a forlorn God
who heard one too many confessions
His Civil war costume
hanging like dead flesh in the closet
my daughter's bones in the dead coffin
her image - a picture - now gone
our love erased,
capsules over vestige time
killing occurring in rituals
ill fated stabs to the heart
each dying one breath to another - slowly
with pain
the branch in the fire
re-burning my nimble parts
his hatred murdering me
twice over
raw and rare
while the fire ignites his numbing gratitude.

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