Eulogy: For The Assembly And Disposal Of The Dead Poem by Aaron Graham

The dead ones, actually death too: couldn’t interest me less
Tell the truth, I hate’em. Hate they’re still here
Stillness is chaos. This chaos was never even motion’s beauty.
Ungainly, they lay about
Broken bits somehow attached to impossible angles. Waiting
For someone to collect’em, each one, each piece. Then doing,
I can’s guess and prefer not to know what. Rotting,
Just there. Clusters of sprawling decay midst dead ground. Arraying,
Erratic Chaos. If bunch of hippies at a Jethro Tull Concert. O.Ded on LSD
Or the room of typewriting monkeys, toil. Recreating,
War and Peace that breed of random no one ever sees happening.
No one can ever hope to prevent, you didn’t prevent.
Because, you weren’t fast enough.
Never fast enough.
Us in the getting, or them now rotting.
They’re ours now. I guess. Time winnows on: never fast enough,
In Najaf living are damned, the damned assail all living, time dies,
Is dead, the dead don’t give a damn,
Only they have time.
Tell we, who thought to walk so blithely
through Death’s Kingdom, :
Our dead word, Turning
Ashen crossing desolation
when passed, time is passing,
Eexistents-forhold.
The same fools way we
Follow The Amealian Way
We follow the same fools way;
Circle through scattered silicate seas’
Circe seeming endlessly distant;
Her shore unprowed our skiff’s run.
Boots, now impotent, invade, limitless mare:
Death’s Kingdom in life.
I pray to see our breath, passion,
Stir their dust to consciousness,
Wake their ashes to our pain,
Exist—more—Scenery of our hell- the living.