Death Poem #2

We have this prob­lem with things dying
fish in the rain
pigeons in the winter
pots of basil dry­ing out in the sun

We have this prob­lem with things com­ing alive
in the back corner of the fridge
in a for­got­ten bowl of… some­thing
a flower                          in an aban­doned                        cup of coffee

We have this prob­lem with things dying
dreams, ideal, sun­sets, relationships

We have this prob­lem with things com­ing alive
bankers, East and West, blank cheques and bal­ance of power power
power and supermakets

We have this prob­lem with things that are dead
we don’t let them stay bur­ied
we dig them up and burn them
to live in false brightness

we have this prob­lem with things that are dead

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