Have the dead people
really settled into our lungs?
Unspoken heart of lamenting
doling and settling with money
they all say nothing is settled
a friend said no one can settle
be at peace without some remains
I remind her of all lost at sea
or those who perished in war
their bodies unclaimed or forgotten
we have lost forever for ages
To me it‘s merely the dead people
dead people in my lungs
clawing enraging their way to be heard
unique in their own dust to dust
yet like all others before them
The wailing will never get better
the way they‘re going about it:
“You need to be angry
as long as you need
but try to remember
you'll never be healed
til you let go the anger”
I sigh
They answer that nothing is settled
until their dead ones come home
never forget the banner of Israel
China lost five times galore
too booted subdued to complain
what numbers do more?
you‘d rather percentiles?
where Israel wins for its loss?
I started to cough in
October, October of 2001
I couldn‘t go home
unless with I.D.
to answer my email
or water the plants
not nearly dead yet
(Whither thou goest?
To water withered plants
To talk to them with
Mighty words
Weighty words
To nurture them onward
Within the dirty air and
So from hither I goeth)
After picking up mail
from Bowling Green post stop
not gone missing
I‘d stare at computer
monitor laboring
stunned by the blow
inhaling thin needles
thimbles of people
into my lungs
Every so often
come brief fits of coughing
it comforts me as the
dead in my lungs
I‘ve stopped my response to the
9/11 survey, survey of health
come hopeful to my door
as a lost abandoned cur
But the grace of remains
of Eleven, September
is with me forever and ever.