Resurrection Emails

You are dead
for all I know
once something is gone
from our personal celestial spheres
it ceases to exist
and is therefore dead
to us

Resurrection, sometimes, comes
in the form of an email virus
-why for heaven's sake is my email
still in your contacts list, I think,
then realize
yours is probably still in mine:
a tenuous connection that nags not,
tugs not on memories
but instead proffers cheap drugs-
or a mutual connection
in the social network game

But these miracles are rare
like finding a worthwhile comment
among all the chaff we create
while touting our blurbed selves
and displaying a remarkable knack
for idiocy delivered in small doses

Or maybe it is I
who have passed
expired into oblivion
being converted into dust
by the trampling of feet above
Yes, it is I
We are oblivious to one another
and therefore dead 
while our hearts beat in alternate lives
threads of bytes that are lost
in the mass of dead pixels.

Body

Dear body of mine,
I must apologize for mistreating you
for putting in you
what I should have spit out
cholesterol and pills
bad food and worse people
defeated thoughts and
dirty habits that stuck
gum-like in the stomach
rotting in you for years
and
always too much salt with
not enough sugar.

For not letting you run
ungainly and hurtling
down grassy slopes or
none-too-carefully through
forests clogged with foot-traps or
letting you leap, uncontrolled
uproariously
when I felt the restlessness
singing a rhythm in my limbs
and
for dancing too much for others
and not enough for us.

For occasionally despising you
wishing parts of you away - all that
time spent in front of the
mirrors of others' eyes
I could not see the beauty in you
meant only for mine
then expecting you to serve me
when I needed you again
kept you living for
one look of satisfaction that
when given, only meant
I congratulated myself.

For falling when you wanted to climb
for resting when you wanted to push
for the disconnect between body and mind
between love of you, body and body-love
for the fire,
for the blame,
for the wire,
for the pain
for never forgiving that one time
we fell, slipped, bobbled
for letting you take the risks and
reaping the rewards with your hands.

Yet I know you forgive me;
what can cells do but reconnect?
I more than love you, so
forgive me when I
do it all again tomorrow; but, someday:
I will push off
from the earth
into the shock of waves
swim kick and float
into the deep, into a bright sun
until you have peace.

~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elizabeth the Killer

At night I dream
of being the virgin queen
the rigid rod that fell
beneath the weight of air

I feel my ministers
rob my body seconds
after I close my watery eyes
Stealing England from my hand

Pulling fingers that danced
as pale, supple spiders
weaving the threads of
traitors and gentlemen

And I can only muse
with my dull, flat tongue
that had I known love, I would have
stabbed it in its heart

The final thrust I'd strike
with a dismissal so cold
gazing at the dazed dawn
from soundproof chambers

where the only cannon shot
to breach my inner sanctum
would be the one to fell England
and with it, me.

~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~

Masculine rhymes are from accents, Feminine rhymes are from disyllabia. <-- Poems ad infinitum

Death is Walking, Hand in Mine

I hate fall
And she's walking in the afternoon
with treeskins in her pocket
crinkling and breaking
against her cold ribs

It's like Hamlet:
everything dies before the end
Even if your heart keeps beating
the final steps of this frenzied dance
will steal your last breath

A parade of corpses
in aboveground graves
spines crackling where feet fall
In a post-war battlefield
with blood-red and bruise-yellow grass

Insects whine at the doorframes
begging their way inside
mice and rats burrow and peck
at the soft underbellies of houses
they sense that we are coming...

Death is walking, hand in mine.
Fingers held in his ironclad grip.
We leech the colors from the sky
bleed the leaves and children dry
make new bones to build our thrones.

These last gasps of life
drawn from raspish lips are
building up to some apocalypse.
Even the winds will collapse.
Nothing will survive.

Until Winter bends its crooked hand
touches the dying earth with care
and stops even death in his tracks.
I am death's, but soon,
my lover will come in with the cold.

~~~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~~~

You can be my diacope, if you let me be your chiasmus. <-- More Poemage

Vanished

You're gone.
It's over.
Done.
Your life - finished.
Say it, get it out there -
Dead.
To the world, to me -
Gone

gone in the dissolution
of sharp, sweet, sugar granules
on my tongue -

I've swallowed you
so painfully.

gone with the slow extraction of
light from sunset, of
dark from sunrise -

You've killed both
day and night.

gone in the lost innocence
of children grown old
before their time -

I've aged them with
my abandonment.

vanished, banished, released
from behind prison bars, the very things
holding you up at the end -

Free from mortal affairs.

You are Gone.
Dead.
Floating above the earth
- or below it -
carelessly naked and unconcerned.
Space-time bores you.
Physics cannot trap you
in paradox.

And (to you)
I -
I am gone.
I am dead, over, finished,
lost in the mists;
my burdened thoughts
particles
separated by your
ghost wind.

~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~

You Still Have More to Learn... <-- More Poetry