BEING BORN
INTESTATE
Never for a second.
The barking dog.
Something like a barnyard
pig, rooting through slop,
fending off advances, trying
desperately to find the machine
within the dream. Pile-driver
Heaven and a manager with
a heart of gold.
-
In the glimmer of early morning,
while the sun slides slowly
along its way, I watch the
daylight colors, brightening,
rising, everything opening up.
I think of that woman I'd just
seen, in her white robe,
stepping outside, bending
down, picking up the day's
paper, thrown onto her lawn.
-
It's nothing ever like this.
When it hits you.
This is life, completely
apparent, and then
(slowly) it's over
in a flash.
Never for a second.
The barking dog.
Something like a barnyard
pig, rooting through slop,
fending off advances, trying
desperately to find the machine
within the dream. Pile-driver
Heaven and a manager with
a heart of gold.
-
In the glimmer of early morning,
while the sun slides slowly
along its way, I watch the
daylight colors, brightening,
rising, everything opening up.
I think of that woman I'd just
seen, in her white robe,
stepping outside, bending
down, picking up the day's
paper, thrown onto her lawn.
-
It's nothing ever like this.
When it hits you.
This is life, completely
apparent, and then
(slowly) it's over
in a flash.
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