Friday, September 5, 2008

an epitaph

Book Of Days

and when my final hours are counted,
where will i be?

at this desk, jotting verse,
drinking wine?

will there be
a final sigh,
the obit won't mention,

the long ride away from my children,
the empty apartment i rented in a strange city,
eating nothing but peanuts for months on end,
losing 36 pounds in less than a year,
the solace i found in a cigarette before bed,
lying alone on a mattress,
on an uneven floor,
in a bedroom without furniture,
staring out a window with no blind,
watching the moths' unemotional devotion
to a cheap, bare bulb, courtyard light,
and thinking outloud,
"I am fucked."

it will all be there

page after page
in the lines scribed
across the loose-leaf white
of my death-calm face

seemingly lost,
forgotten chapters
of an unfinished novel
finding their way
to the other side of the wind

the book of days
they will bury me with

Cast a cold eye on Life, on Death. Horseman, pass by. --- W.B.Yeats epitaph

No comments: