Thursday, December 24, 2015

The Lively One Is Lying

I like my silent self so
Much better than my social
Self croaking over dinner
Among other social selves

Late at night when I'm lonely
And Blind Willie Johnson growls
In his tenor false bass doomed
To die too young in my skull.

Well who dies too old? Who lives
In Beulah land forever?
I can almost be content
When I put prison that way,

Pascal's death sentence: all souls
Shuffle through the prison yard
Before their personal turn
To discover nothing was

Ever and never will be.
When I am silent, watching
The night stirring its haunches
To hunt the world, I am free.

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