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28728all that death that means so much to someone

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  • Mary Jo
    Jun 2, 2004
    • 0 Attachment
      to swim a sea

      i am
      to touch
      to cry
      to hurt
      to know
      come see they say
      the stones are broken
      the sky is nowhere
      to be a star
      to shine
      or likely glare
      meticulous
      in superb circles
      will it end soon
      dust of centuries
      sobs of tired faces
      in nights too cold for loving
      to touch
      to cry
      will it end soon

      windows mindfully
      the sky falls in with a crash
      sudden dust retains the sound
      and no one hears anyway
      intentional dirt buries a man
      seas away from somewhere he was going
      let the poor man have his bed
      to lie down in
      and simply harmlessly stare
      at his rapidly disappearing mind

      somewhere there are falling messages
      from high flown hands that toss the stars
      in them is a reason for reality
      deadly to the hungry man
      they strike upon his appetite
      and crack to splintered pieces
      the open simple lusty eyes
      and when the feeling is shaken
      and senselessness returns
      all will be dying wet with tears
      keening rasps that break the ears
      all that death
      seems to mean so much to someone

      the seeds of the wild flower
      have been taken by the wind
      to the grave of someones mother
      and to someone elses brother
      they may have no care or worry where they grow
      they will entrust their own seed to the wind

      if I had a reason
      i would fly up to the stars
      or swim all the oceans
      the rain is coming now
      i'll go inside and contemplate
      the country while it's wet
      i don't really care
      if someone says a prayer for me
      i'll live until tomorrow
      maybe then i'll swim a sea
      if it's a sunny day
      i'm in the vermilion forest
      of my answerless immortality

      t.m. malo
      age 18
      uw-whitewater

      -----------------------------------------------------

      My ol' man to be was visiting me on campus in the cold March of `68
      sleeping on the ductwork outside the gymnasium to stay warm but not
      attending classes when he wrote this. And oh yeah I remember we used
      to go and make it on the gravestones in the cemetery. He's visiting
      this week like the old days but we've acquired a few comforts like a
      bed.

      Jo