Saturday, August 1, 2015

A Monster All My Life

Charon's puppy cuddled
Under her curled left hand,
She comes, not exactly
Prepared, not unprepared.
Gone, here is her present,
Like presents before hers,

Nothing he'd recognize,
Fan of shallow waters,
Rivers as barricades,
And Einstein. Not this time.
Fetal, fifty, she was
Buried 12,000 years

Or so ago, before
Such numbers existed,
We think. Perhaps a pet,
But then, why kill it, too,
If she loved it? Why not
Let it live, die a dog?

Bergson apostrophized
The soul's experience
Of time outside of space.
Nothing's outside of space.
She died and was buried
Holding a tiny dog.

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