about a man
going down on an escalator,
the way he placidly sinks, inexorably,
in slow motion.
If you found a severed thumb
in the gutter
I think the pathos it evoked
would outlast the shock.
Empty chairs have a special melancholy
I won't even try to describe—
except to say they're like the sagging
buttocks of unwanted old men.
Every single person dies,
every one,
no exception.
Our lives seem so important
so substantial
so much like something that really matters.
Yet a plastic Hello Kitty dangling
from a dollar-store key chain
will outlast any of us.
No comments:
Post a Comment