Kit Kelen #989 - I was buried in a poem

989

I was buried in a poem 

 

no one would find me there

wrote the silly thing myself

like at the beach

when you heap the day over

so friends must dig you out with a beer

(all they have in their hands)

a moment there though you could

be left to the bluebottle tide

washed off like a message bottle

and read

like the far bloated

island of trash more than fish

set like a moon

like the stars

on dry land

I was in the papers – trail and pile

now and then caught fire

wagtail came to the window

but I couldn’t tell the time

had a sort of Sunday heart

sleeve hung

mouth of it there was

blue mooning

and Bush Week too

what I felt?

who could say?

your guess as good as mine

no fallacy intentional

but well there you go

greatness! so soon was I forgotten

words were away on the stone

I myself was weather in there

sport the morons watched

and then there were the times I drowned

took poison, bolt upright in electric chair

your hair on end everybody cared

it was tragic and you had to laugh

a little cough

the lights go out

there was a poem lodged in my brain

(that severed head with time for a haiku)

wonderful company there

in the poem

everyone you ever knew

every animal was calling

worlds were upside down or you were

there was affection of those times

and how we kept afloat

but the sun was always shining

that’s how it is to look back

mind righting itself

so the past adjusts

I had several lives in it

creatures were all made up

ready for the ball

and bounced along

and off the walls

if anyone asked –

because it’s a poem!

haven’t you been there there?

and what was meant?

who meant it?

how?

someone once peeped in

but they wouldn’t stay long –

some deficit disorder

it’s not like any other place

no one will find us there