vincecavasin.com / writing / poetry

home | latest | about | writing | ranting | interests | photos | links | contact 

 

you become
(Immortal)

Buckshot is hard on the palate as it leaves muzzle doing 1200 feet per second it is no
easier on back wall of nasal cavity
              on soft matter of brain
                         on skull cap exiting
                              not even on lamp shade, couch, drywall, 2x4 and siding finally
                         coming to rest
              staining red blood white bone black nothing crushing two baby girls ex wife mom
dad brother a hundred people friends
I never knew you had

The spray settles
                          the fragments, splotches, chunks, scattered pieces
on us who remain

We see them and we marvel with revulsion that you, so pure, would stain us this way

Unsure if we should clean up the mess of beautiful you, unsure if we can cleanse each
other or only ourselves, all we can do is let the clear you inside us seep out slowly over
time to bleach away these sins.


November 16, 2000
Howell

[For my friend Eric Bohn,
12/6/65-11/12/00]

 

 


top

Copyright © 2004 Vince Cavasin. All rights reserved.