When the dead talk
When the dead talk, it is under a patch of earth
where voices are safe and muffled. Having died,
these people know the countless failings of being alive. And the infinite
hazards to consider: what would it mean
if the ears of the living were to feel
the strangeness of something once familiar
ghosting at its edges?
Jesus I am sorry this stupid line kept eating at my brain since last night I tried writing a poem about dead people I know from the cemetery and it went nowhere so I am writing it down now before it eats at my day too. Um, yeah.
