cover for the living
like last year’s leaves
hiding the first green sprouts
we like to believe we’re the living
but maybe it’s the other way round
aren’t we the ones entering time and space
and immediately beginning to disintegrate
while it’s the so-called dead who become
immortal in the land of ideas
even if no one remembers them
out of what they leave behind
out of what they relinquish of desire
they build our brief lives
1 comment:
A weird echo of Bronk here, but maybe a poem he would have wished to write, since he didn't write it and you did. But there's a bit of his worldview. I like him (not sure if you're a fan) but it's been years since I read him and I wonder if I would like him as much as I like this here, which reminded me of him. I know he repeated himself and his themes too damn much, which you don't do. I like how new themes and ideas constantly emerge out of your green infrastructure--green meaning nurtured and nurturing--not the other type of green.
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