There is nothing but pregnant pauses,
Weighted with the silence of words unspoken.
In the throes of their labour, float naught,
But still births, and unformed limbs.
So, with spade and shovel,
Pick and ax,
I aim to bury–
Burrowing deeply into the spaces of muddy darkness.
And in their moist recesses,
Will I lay dead-born, and unborn,
Side by side with Friendship*.
Then, at long last, will Friendship’s last relative
Lie deathly beneath the stone;
Covered,
In the anonymity of the unknown grave.
K.N.O.W.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013.
*In collaboration with Death of a Friendship*
