Eternal Day Room

The sky indents itself, shrinking from Mt. Olivet cemetery...

stole to indifference due to unprecedented inquiry.

Downcast angels float an arm, indecisively comandeering a

five-fingered pointing to.

This...is the eternal day room, the dead's sanitarium.

Were mum's the word, its patients would rearrange the

letters of their names upon tomb, crypt, mausoleum,

gravestone alike.

No, they shall stay their final consideration to the living...

that they may come and rest at their resting place--

offer their open ended session of mounting words.

Many a withered bloom musters beauty shy of bygone...

patients love these, fall face-first upon them adoringly.

To them they are footnotes to the precarious edge, of

which they have...over them.

Deed indeed enough looms...varied and manifold November

leaves quickened to shed their skin.

Given to long drawn scratches, palsy and fold...upon these

cemetery roads that sleep through and through their somber

expiation...carriage to car hath passed over them.

Derivative direction, they whet the appetite of agon.

Numbered lots wear the formal stare of a thing lost to

regimentation...the patients thumb noses and riffle tongues

at these numbers--catharsis...and it is right.

For it is not by number that man to woman, man to man,

woman to woman are torn asunder.

But by an undying light that must have of their consort one

by one.

The eternal day room, your local cemetery, their non-local

sanitarium-- whose therapeutic prowess revolutionizes fields

upon fields of space.

In certain silences that are deafening to the point of inner

hearing...the patients can be heard singing: Ring around the

rosy, A pocket full of posies, "Ashes, Ashes" We all fall down!

...Then arise and fall down...arise and fall down...arise and

fall down, whilst laughing uproariously.

Thus spake the cemetery...for the people, by the people.

Konstantinos Mark

Reviews

[...]

. wow ! ...
. your observations and words are infinitely profound ...