Thursday, January 27, 2011

Dead Poets

It comes
when no one
is watching.

Just that moment
in a torrent
of time.

Milliseconds
that
last forever.

Eternity in a bubble.

Come
fall back
with me.

The siren call
unlaces me.
I am a ribbon
in a hurricane.

Whipped by chance,
borne up by force.
Choices are such
cruel jokes.

Don't tempt
the razor
to cut your throat
but
sing so loudly
with it at your neck
that even
Dead Poets
will rise and turn
to see
at whose feet
the wreath is thrown.

Or,
be lost.

No one hears it
so
offer it
as though the blade
were held
to your son's
pulsing throat.

Be ready.
Do not disappoint.

Cry out.
Make the last note
clear.

Like a long
whistle
in the dark.

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