September 2012

You’re Dying, Darling

listen to this poem
 
This is the part where the gut burns,

where the soul turns to ashes and

the chill is hard as the departed

frozen before burial or after confession

when you you’ve said too much.

How it’s unrecoverable information

that exposed all flaws no face can hide.

 

This is the part where they carve

your eyes into a thousand shards

without anesthesia. Punishment

for trying to see what you’re told

was always hidden but licks the walls

of your decomposing stomach

like a hungry dog with an incessant

 

bark; starved and homeless, who

once knew the softness of a satin

pillow in a hospice house amidst

the slowing of life. This is the part

called the draining of happiness

where the animal wakes to a

caterwaul howl.