Alive, Lie, Legend

Your death is louder

All hail the helling of bells, barrage of spinster
Spiking coffee with morphine, and no one
Can hear it  – your death is louder – like lozenge,
Louder like bullshit-banter-baculum-brat-buccina,
Louder like sun, louder like you have been fawning
For breeding, like Tiny Dancer, louder like gorging on
Irish spring soap, louder like deafness on the
Town line of trust in Toronto

You are every phobia in a compulsive nihility
I hear you screaming and it’s louder, stiff
Rotten, rouge and alabaster tree spawn –
I have worshiped you into a coffin cinder,
Alabaster cradles, alabaster follicles, louder!,
Alabaster dresser drawers, unbleached
Alabaster worn out sheets, alabaster bath,
L’eau de Mare, alabaster priming pills,
Alabastard, you said it like I can’t hear you,
love me like I don’t know it’s you
Hounding down my back and rearranging
My books, turning on my television four times
A spirit feeding on aggravation LOUDER

You are so loud I cannot hear myself falsify belief
remember routine pills
I cannot recite vernacular in my name
determine if I am alive   lie   or legend

Your death is mine.


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