I am trying to write what can’t be spoken,
convey what can only be felt. Love was not
enough to save us, nor will it be enough
to spare me, but nonetheless it is enough
to survive with. Here, now- take my warm
hands and trace my pulseless wrists. Does
it make sense yet? The living body reeking
of formaldehyde? The dead body laughing
at the dinner table? Look at my heart,
bleeding but not beating, and define life.
Look at my arms, empty but holding,
and define death. Hard, isn’t it? The poem
on the futility of words. The canary singing
a song of carbon monoxide. The moon
reflecting the light of a black hole. The dead
rising from their graves, not to devour you,
but to say sorry. You still don’t understand-
that’s fine. Find me in the graveyard where
no one I know is buried, my toes digging
into the stolen dirt, reading a book as I perch
on my own headstone, waiting to be eaten.
I’ll trade you understanding in exchange for
the impossible. It’s not that hard to get if
you know where to look. Just close your
eyes, say a prayer, and picture a world
where we actually get what we want.